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ERMINE 0WEN 



MORAST & CO., PHOTOGRAPHERS, CLINTON, MO. 



READINGS, RECITATIONS, 

AND 

IMPERSONATIONS 



BY 

EKMINE OWEN 

CHAIR OF HISTORY AND ELOCUTION 
North Missouri State Normal School 



"^i 



s 







NEW YORK 
THE COLUMBIAN PUBLISHING CO. 
1891 



^ 



^ .0* 



V 



Copyright, 1891, 

BY 

ERMINE OWES. 



In Kindly Remembrance of the 

STUDENTS of the NORTH MISSOURI STATE NORMAL, 

with whom 

FOR EIGHT YEARS I HA VE BEEN ASSOCIA TED ; 

with a particularly pleasant 

REGARD FOR THOSE WHO HAVE BEEN MEMBERS 

of my 

EL C UTION CLA SSES ; 

and in honest sympathy with all who 

"WANT A PIECE TO SPEAK," 

THIS BOOK IS AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED. 

Kirksvillk, Mo., Jan. 1, 1891. 



TABLE OF CONTENTS. 



PAGE 

Apostrophe to "Water Prof. Ferguson. 1 

Como, or My Tiger Lily Joaquin Miller. 3 

The New South H. W. Grady. 6 

"Margery" N. Y. Graphic. 9 

" Sharing Thanksgiving Dinner ". . . Mrs. Emma E. Meguire. 12 

Baby's Name School-day Magazine. 15 

The Fourth of July at Jonesville Josiah Allen's Wife. 16 

The Voice of the Helpless Demorest's Monthly. 22 

The Gin Fiend 23 

First Soliloquy of a Rationalistic Chicken 25 

The Sleep-walking Scene from "Macbeth " Shakespeare. 27 

The Child-wife Charles Dickens. 27 

Hiawatha's Wooing Longfellow. 32 

The Famine Longfellow. 36 

The Little Housekeeper 39 

The Present Age W. E. Channing. 41 

Mr. Horner on Grumble Corner N. Y. Independent. 42 

" Flight of the Angel Gabriel " Prof. Ferguson. 44 

Baby George MacDonald. 45 

Nothing to Wear Wm. Allen Butler. 46 

The Little Scheherezade 51 

The Day of Peace. . E. T. Willet. 52 

Uncrowned among the Nations J. D. Finney. 56 

Adown the Field Together. Louise TJpham. 58 

" The World for Sale " Balph Hoyt. 60 

Thirteen and Dolly. St. Nicholas Magazine. 62 

Edinburgh after Flodden W. E. Aytoun. 63 

The Case of Mrs. Moll Harbour, in "YoitlJi's Companion." 67 

The Dolls' Tea Party 72 

The Victory of the Frosts Avanelle Holomes. 73 

Lost in the Sea Fog ,..,..., ,.,... 75 



vi TABLE OF CONTENTS. 

PAGE. 

The Chariot Race Gen. Lew Wallace. 77 

What Makes the Grasses Grow? St. Nicholas Magazine. 32 

The Pleasures of Hope Thomas Campbell. 84 

Boy Brittan Forceythe Willson. 87 

The Fall of Jerusalem Geo. Croly. 90 

The Harvest Alice La Due. 93 

The Song of Steam 95 

The Bride of the Greek Isle Mrs. Hemans. 97 

Gates 100 

The Race Problem Henry W. Grady. 102 

Mormon Wife Number One, on the Arrival of Number 

Twenty-one L. B. Cake. 106 

The Dreamland Sea 108 

Wee Joukydaidles James Smith. 108 

Le Manage de Convenance Leigh Hunt. 109 

My Ships at Sea Ella Wheeler Wilcox. 112 

The Baby's Pillow Mrs. 8. T. Perry. 113 

A Madman's Manuscript Charles Dickens. 114 

Before and After School Rhode Island Schoolmaster. 118 

Woman and the Rose , James Stewart. 119 

Twickenham Ferry 121 

Robin 121 

Aunty Dolef id's Visit to Her Sick Friend 125 

A Legend of Martha's Vineyard 127 

King of Candy-Land Youth's Companion. 130 

I Love, You Love 1 30 

The Province of History James Ridpath. 131 

Look Not upon the Wine When It Is Red L. R. Plietys. 134 

Tbe Cheap Jack Charles Dickens. 135 

The March of Time W. S. Walker. 141 

The Children and the Angel George B. Griffith, 143 

The Gran dame's Story Mrs. Henry. 144 

The Blind Girl of Castel-Cuille Longfellow. 150 

How Ruby Played the Piano Geo. Wm. Bagby. 155 

Napoleon 158 

The Gospel Harpoon Homiletic Review. 160 

Inasmuch Mary Glen. 162 

A King among Men Harriet M. Spaulding. 165 

Elsie's Thanksgiving -Margaret E. Sangster. 165 

The Graveyard of the Ages 168 

Mrs. Leo Hunter. Charles Dickens. 170 



TABLE OF CONTENTS. vii 

PAGE. 

The Elf-child James Wlutcomb Riley. 173 

Macbeth and the Dagger Shakespeare 174 

Hamlet Ex-Gov. Davis of Minnesota. 175 

Miracles 177 

The Battle Schiller. 179 

Mansie Wauch at the Play David Moir. 181 

The Runaway Princess Emily H. Miller. 183 

The Fate of Nina and Rieuzi 

Adapted from Bulwer's " Last of the Tribunes." 186 

The Child on the Judgment Seat Mrs. Elizabeth Charles. 188 

May Days Waverly Magazine. 191 

The Conquered Banner Father Ryan. 193 

Robert E. Lee B. H. Hill. 195 

The Puritans Macaulay. 195 

Artist and Peasant Fannie L. Fancher. 198 

Marse Phil Thomas Nelson Page. 199 

A Little Mistake J. McDermott, in " Youth's Companion." 201 

North and South George G. V t est. 203 

Pansy Blossom 204 

To the Memory of S. S. Cox W.J. Stone. 206 

Gettysburg George William Curtis. 207 

Jack Frost's Little Sister Youth's Companion. 209 

A Democracy Hateful to Philip Demosthenes. 210 

The End of the Play Wm. M. Thackeray. 212 

Brutus on the Death of Caesar Shakespeare. 214 

Autumn S. U. Dent. 215 

What Constitutes a State ? Sir William Jones. 216 

Baby Boys 217 

Glaucus in the Roman Arena 

Adapted from Bulwer's " Last Days of Pompeii." 218 

Nydia Adapted from Bulwer's " Last Days of Pompeii." 221 

At " The Literary " 

James Whitcomb Riley, in^ " Century Magazine." 224 

Sent Back by the Angels 

■. . . .Langbridge, in " The Voice Magazine." 226 

Naughty Girl 231 

The Way to Sleeptown S. W. Foss. 234 

Iraph-m James Nicholson. 235 

A Secret Lizzie M. Hadley. 237 

The Stars and Stripes B. H. Hill. 238 

The Little Gnome Laura Richards, in " St. Nicholas." 240 



viii TABLE OF CONTENTS. 

PAGE. 

Rob, the Pauper Will Carleton. 242 

Buckingham Foiled Sir Walter Scott. 246 

A Dream of Fair Women 

Adapted from Tennyson's "Dream of Fair Women." 253 

Index ,,,,, 259 



PEE FACE. 






This " Collection of Recitations " has, for its ap- 
pearance, the same reasons that books of this order 
usually have — the necessities and experiences of the 
class-room. 

Partly for my own convenience, but more par- 
ticularly in response to the continual call made by 
students for something to recite, I have been in- 
duced to prepare the present work, and to present 
in an orderly collection a part of the large number 
of literary gems that have accumulated on my hands 
during my experience as a teacher. 

To the habit of clipping from newspapers and 
magazines, preserving political speeches and other 
articles of merit in my private scrap-books, I am in- 
debted for many of the rare selections here found. 
This does not imply, however, that they are old and 
hackneyed, or have " lost their savor." On the con- 
trary, many of the pieces appear for the first time in 
the form of a declamation, and in some cases hundreds 
of pages have been read in order to secure a recita- 
tion of, perhaps, not more than three pages. Students 
will appreciate the fact that much of this work has 
been done amid the arduous demands of the class- 
room ; and will derive an added pleasure in recogniz- 
ing those selections which have won the medals in 
the various contests. 



PREFACE. 

Recitations suitable for children are also given, 
with the desire of making this book a valuable and 
effective aid to both teacher and pupil in Friday- 
afternoon exercises and evening entertainments. 

While I feel justified in calling this a new book, I 
have not omitted some of those masterpieces of 
eloquence which, though old, never lose their interest, 
nor grow stale by repetition. 

Ermine Owen, 

Chair of History and Elocution. 



North Mo. State Normal School. 



ELOCUTIONARY MAXIMS. 



" There is in souls a sympathy with sounds." 

Campbell. 

" Give me no more of body than shows soul." 

Browning. 

" Do not mistake perspiration for inspiration." 

Warman. 

"There must be impression before there can be expression." 

Delsarte. 

" Suit the action to the word, the word to the action, with this 
special observance, that you overstep not the modesty of 
nature." 

Shakespeare. 

" Voices must go deeper into us than other things. I have often 
fancied heaven might be made of voices." 

George Eliot. 

" The angels judge of man's feelings by the tones of his voice. Of 
his thoughts by his articulation." 

Sioedenborg. 

" A stiff uniformity of speech is not only displeasing to the ear, 
but disappointing in its every effect." 

Betterton. 

" Action is the predominant power in eloquence, and its chief 
and most desirable advantage lies in a good voice." 

Cicero. 



READINGS, RECITATIONS, AND 
IMPERSONATIONS. 



APOSTROPHE TO WATER. 

We read of " the wine 

That smacks of the vine 

That grows by the beautiful river "— 

But oh, did you ever consider the glories of God's 
pure water? The scientist, looking back over the 
history of our planet, traces, with admiration, the 
part which water hath played in the great drama of 
life — beautiful life upon the earth. Surely it hath 
been the busiest thing in all this world of ours. 
Evaporated again and again, it has sped as on angel 
wings to and fro 'twixt earth and heaven, on its 
mission of love and goodness. Now down to the 
roots of the grasses it hath gone, to pump up the 
green chlorophyll that paints their delicate fronds ; 
then upon the sunbeams' path of gold it hath climbed 
to the very clouds to paint the bow of beauty on the 
sky, and to come down to earth again freighted with 
corn and with abundance ; now down into the earth 
it goes to pump up the sweet juices that fill the apple 
fountain, and flake its delicate covering with ruby 
and russet and brown ; now cooling the brow of the 
sufferer when the fiery fever is upon him ; then up 
to the very heavens again to float in mighty conti- 
nents of clouds to and fro over the earth ; now 



2 READINGS, RECITATIONS, 

resting upon the brow of the baptized babe ; now 
down into the ocean depths, where the monsters of 
the deep are kenneled ; then up on silver wings it 
hath flown to its home in the sky, to flit along cloudy- 
corridors of day, like some fair spirit winging its 
way to the celestial city; now wreathing the beauti- 
ful bridal veil that adorns fair blushing June ; now 
weaving the snowy winding-sheet that drapes the 
dying year ; now flashing in the dew-drop ; now fall- 
ing in the rain ; now fretting the dainty frostwork 
upon the window-pane ; now playing its harp iEolian 
in the far-off depths of the meadow ; now thundering 
in the billows that break upon the shore. 

Thus on, ever on, in its unwearying work it has 
gone ; never resting, never lingering, never fainting 
on the way, this mighty toiler of the ages hath 
builded up the beauty and strength of this fair 
world of ours. Surely it hath been the Master 
Builder of the Ages; pulling down old continents 
that have fulfilled their day, and building up better 
and brighter, while flinging over their stony steeps 
the mantle of the beautiful. 

For aught we know the very water in that goblet 
formed a part of the original creation ; that it saw 
the glories of Creation's morning and heard the voice 
of Him who said, " Let there be light ! " It looked 
upon the world when like a lovely jewel it first 
flashed from the Creator's fingers. For aught we 
know the water now flashing in that goblet may have 
stood in sparkling dew upon Eden's first flowers, or 
rested upon the brow of beautiful Eve, when, suffused 
with blushes, and with pleasure, she stood for the 
first time before her lordly husband. For aught we 
know it may have formed a portion of those very 
drops that pattered on the roof of the a'rk, or 
formed the bow of promise that greeted the eyes of 
the old patriarch when he came forth with his strange 
caravan, or rested on the brow of the baptized Jesus, 
when he came up from Jordan's wave ; and on, ever 
on, they will go in their unwearying work, until at 



AND IMPERSONATIONS. 3 

last they form a portion of that cloud on which He 
will appear " when He cometh to judge the world." 

Oh water ! beautiful water ! Heaven's benisons 
rest upon thee ! Thy home is in the sky ! — far up in 
the beautiful blue, where angels walk in robes of 
starry light. Thou comest to the earth in many a 
fairy form of icicle and frosted snow. And when, in 
the music of soft spring rain, I hear the patter of 
thy tiny feet upon my window-pane, I bless thee, for 
thou art full of corn and abundance. Thou comest 
to earth on a mission of love, flowers spring up in 
thy footprints. Wherever thou goestover the earth 
it is as though an angel had shaken his glittering 
pinions and heaven's own dew and sunlight had 
fallen around. Everything that breathes doth bless 
thee ! Eighteen hundred years have rolled around, 
since some Oscan beauty took thee from the spark- 
ling spring, to bathe her dark eyes, or wash the dust 
from her black tresses, when, heated with love-making 
and the sight of blood, she came by night from the 
arena of the gladiators. Though eighteen hundred 
years have passed away since thou wast taken from 
thy mountain home, yet thou art crystal pure ; — as 
pure to slake the thirst of the Neapolitan as ever 
thou wast that of Diomede, or Glaucus, or Nydia 
the Flower Girl. 

Oh water ! — beautiful water ! Heaven's benisons 
rest upon thee ! — Prof. Ferguson. 



COMO, OR MY TIGER LILY. 



The red-clad fishers row and creep, 
Below the crags, as half asleep, 
Nor ever make a single sound. 
The walls are steep, the waves are deep, 
And if a dead man should be found, 
Why, who shall say but he was drowned? 



4 READINGS, RECITATION'S, 

The lakes lay bright as bits of broken moon 
Just newly set within the cloven earth. 
The ripened fields drew round a golden girth 
Far up the steeps and glittered in the noon. 
And when the sun fell down from leafy shore, 
Fond lovers stole in pairs to ply the oar. 
The stars as large as lilies flecked the blue, 
From the Alps the moon came wheeling through 
The rocky pass the great Napoleon knew. 

A gala night it was — the seasons prime, 
We rode from castled lake to festal town, 
To fair Milan. My friend and I, rode down 
By night, when grasses waved in rippled rhyme, 
And so, what theme but love at such a time ? 
His proud lip curled the while with silent scorn 
At thought of love, and then as one forlorn 
He sighed, then bared his temples dashed with gray, 
Then mocked — as one outworn and well blase*. 

A gorgeous tiger lily — flaming red, 
So full of battle — of the trumpet's flare, 
Of old-time passion — upreared its head — 
I galloped past — I leaned — I clutched it — Then 
From out the long, strong grass I held it high 
And cried : " Lo, this to-night shall deck her hair, 
Through all the dance : And mark ! the man shall die 
Who dares assault for good or ill design 
The Citadel where I shall set this sign." 

He spoke no spare word all the after while. 
That scornful, cold, contemptuous smile of his ! 
And in the hall the same old hateful smile ! 
Why, better men have died for less insult than this ! 
Then marvel not that when she graced the floor, 
With all the beauties gathered from the four 
Far quarters of the earth, and in her midnight hair 
My tiger lily — marvel not — I say, 
That he glared like some wild beast well at bay. 



AND IMPERSONATIONS. 5 

Oh ! she shone fairer than summer star 
Or curled sweet moon in middle destiny. 
Oh, have you loved and truly loved, and seen 
Aught else the while but your own stately queen? 
Her presence it was majesty — so tall — 
Her proud development encompassed all — 
She rilled all space, I sought, I saw but her. 
1 followed as some fervid worshipper. 

Adown the dance she moved with matchless grace, 
The world — my world moved with her ! 
Suddenly, I questioned who her cavalier might be. 
'Twas he ! his face was leaning to her face. 
I clutched my blade. I sprang, I caught my breath, 
And so stood leaning, cold, and still as death. 
And they stood still. She blushed, then reached and 

tore 
The lily as she passed. All round the floor 
She strewed its heart like bits of gushing gore. 
'Twas he said, " heads not hearts were made to break." 
He taught me this that night in splendid scorn. 
I learned too well. The dance was done — Ere morn 
We mounted — he and I, but no more spoke — 
And this for woman's love ! My lily, worn 
In her dark hair in pride — to then be torn 
And trampled on for this bold stranger's sake! 
Two men rode silent back toward the lake, 
Two men rode silent down — but only one 
Rode up at morn to meet the rising sun. 

The walls are steep, the crags shall keep 
Their everlasting watch profound. 
The walls are steep, the waves are deep — 
And if a dead man should be found 
By red clad fishers in their round, 
Why, who shall say but he was drowned ? 

Joaquin Miller. 



READINGS, RECITATIONS, 



THE NEW SOUTH. 

" There was a South of slavery and secession, — 
that South is dead. — There is a South of union and 
freedom, — that South, thank God, is living, breathing, 
growing every hour." 

Dr. Talmage has drawn for you with a master's 
hand the picture of your returning armies. How, in 
the pomp and circumstance of war, they came back 
to you, with proud and victorious tread, reading their 
glory in a nation's eyes ! I will tell you of another 
ami}' that sought its home at the close of the late 
war — an army that marched home in defeat and not 
in victory — in pathos and not in splendor, but in glory 
that equalled yours, and to hearts as loving as ever 
welcomed heroes home. Think of the foot-sore Con- 
federate soldier, as ragged, half-starved, he turned 
his face southward from Appomattox, in April, 1865. 
Having fought to exhaustion, he surrenders his 
gun, wrings the hands of his comrades in silence, and 
lifting his tear-stained and pallid face for the last 
time to the graves that dot the old Virginia hills, 
pulls his gray cap over his brow, and begins the slow 
and painful journey. What does he find ? answer, 
you, who went to your homes eager to find in the wel- 
come you had justly earned, full payment for four 
years' sacrifice. He finds the home he left so pros- 
perous and beautiful in ruins, his farm devastated, his 
slaves free, his barn empty, his money worthless, his 
social system, feudal in its magnificence, swept awa}', 
his comrades slain, and the burdens of others heavy 
on his shoulders. Crushed by defeat, his very tra- 
ditions are gone. 

What does lie do — this hero in gray with heart of 
gold ? Sit down in sullenness and despair ? not for a 
day. Surely God, who has stripped him of his pros- 
perity, inspired him in his adversity. Restoration 



AND IMPERSONATIONS. 7 

was swift. The soldier stepped from the trenches 
into the furrow : horses that had charged federal 
guns marched before the plow, and fields that ran 
red with human blood in April, were green with 
harvest in June, and there was little bitterness in all 
this. Bill Arp struck the key-note when he said, 
" Well, I killed as many of them as they did of me ; 
and now I am going to work, and if the Yankees fool 
with me any more I will whip 'em again." 

Never was nobler duty confided to human hands 
than the uplifting and upbuilding of the prostrate 
and bleeding South, misguided perhaps, but beautiful 
in her suffering — honest, brave, and generous 
always. 

When Lee surrendered, the South became, and 
has since been loyal to this Union. She fought hard 
enough to know she was whipped, and in the toad's 
head of defeat she found her jewel. The shackles 
that had held her in narrow limitations fell forever, 
when the shackles of the negro slave were broken. 
Under the old regime, the negroes were slaves to the 
South, the South was a slave to the system. The old 
South rested everything on slavery and agriculture, 
unconscious that these could neither give nor main- 
tain healthy growth. The new South presents a per- 
fect democracy — a social system compact, and 
closely knitted, less splendid on the surface, but 
stronger at the core, a hundred farms for every plan- 
tation, fifty homes for every palace. 

The new South is enamored of her work. Her 
soul is stirred with the breath of a new life. The 
light of a grander day is falling fair on her face. She 
is thrilling with the consciousness of glowing power 
and prosperity, as she stands upright and full 
statured, breathing the keen air and looking out 
upon the expanding horizon, she understands that her 
emancipation came because in the inscrutable wisdom 
of God her honest purpose was crossed and her brave 
armies were beaten. 

The South has nothing for which to apologize. 



8 BEADING 8, BECITATIONS, 

She believes that the late struggle between the 
States was war and not rebellion, revolution and not 
conspiracy, and that her convictions were as honest 
as yours. She has nothing to take back. In my 
native town of Athens is a monument that crowns its 
central hills — a plain, white shaft. Deep cut into 
its shining side is a name dear to me above the names 
of men, — that of a brave and simple man, who died 
in brave and simple faith. Not for all the glories of 
New England, from Plymouth Rock all the way 
down, would I exchange the heritage he left me in 
his soldier's death. To the foot of that shaft I shall 
send my children's children to reverence him who 
ennobled their names with his heroic blood. But, sir, 
speaking from the shadow of that memory, which I 
honor as I do nothing else on earth, I say that the 
cause in which he suffered, and for which he gave 
his life, was adjudged by higher and fuller wisdom 
than his or mine. And I am glad that the omnis- 
cient God held the balance of battle in His Almighty 
hand ; that human slavery was swept from the 
American soil, and the American union saved from 
the wreck of war. 

This message, Mr. President, comes to you from 
consecrated ground. The very soil of the State of 
Georgia is as sacred as a battle ground of the Repub- 
lic, and hallowed to you by the blood of your brothers, 
who died for your victory, and hallowed to us by the 
blood of those, who died hopeless, but undaunted in 
defeat — sacred soil to all of us — rich with memories 
that make us purer and stronger and better. Speak- 
ing, an eloquent witness in its white peace and pros- 
perity to the indissoluble union of the American States 
and the imperishable brotherhood of the American 
people. 

Now what answer has New England to this mes- 
sage ? Will she permit the prejudice of war to re- 
main in the hearts of the conquerors when it has died 
in the hearts of the conquered ? Will she transmit 
this prejudice to the next generation that in their 



AND IMPERSONATIONS. 9' 

hearts which never felt the generous ardor of con- 
flict it may perpetuate itself ? Will she withhold, 
save in strained courtesy, the hand which straight 
from his soldier's heart Grant offered to Lee at Ap- 
poinattox? Will she make the vision of a restored 
and happy people, which gathered about the couch 
of your dying captain, filling his heart with grace, 
touching his lips with praise and glorifying his path 
to the grave — will she make this vision, on which the 
last sigh of his expiring soul breathed a benediction, 
a delusion and a cheat? If she does, the South must 
accept with dignity its refusal. If she does not, then 
standing, heart to heart and clasping hands, we will 
remain citizens of the same country ; members of 
the same government, all united now and united 
forever. — H. W. Grady. 



"MARGERY." 

(Prize Recitation, June, 1887. N. Mo. State Normal.) 

I met my brother at the train 

And kissed him welcome home again, 

O, I was proud his face to scan — 

Home from the dreadful Rapidan ! 

Two years had passed — two years that day 

Since he had led his men away ; 

Bright o'er his head the banner streamed, 

Bright on his sword the sunlight gleamed. 

We saw them, faintly through our tears, 

We heard them send back answering cheers ; 

And now, in flush of joy and pride, 

Once more I had him at my side. 

Across the green we strolled along, 

And all the air seemed full of song, 

As happy hundreds flocked about 

Rejoicing in the muster out. 

Just then a wail fell on the ear — 

A wail it thrilled the soul to hear — 



10 READINGS, RECITATIONS, 

" Charley ! Charley ! 
Come home to me ! Come home to me ! " 



" What's that ? " cried Tom, and clutched my arm 

As if to hold me back from harm — 

" What is that dreadful wailing, Kate ? 

Wretched — heart-broken — desolate ! " 

" Why Tom," said I, " that's Margery Hall, 

We all have learned her hopeless call, 

She married Charley just the day 

Before his regiment marched away ; 

At Christmas he would come again, 

He said, as fled the flying train, 

She waited trembling for the hour 

And prayed that God would give her power 

To bear the burden of her joy 

When she should greet her gallant boy. 

How sluggishly the dull months passed ! 

But all the days crept by at last 

And Christmas morning came ; she drest 

In all her brightest things and best, 

And ran to see the train come in. 

Oh ! Here upon this bulletin 

She read : 

' Killed by a rifle ball 
In charge on Wagner — Sergeant Hall.' 

" She fell and lay as she were dead, 
And then it was her reason fled ; 
On this one point — on others sane — 
She looks for Charley home again. 
She watches near this bulletin 
Each time the trains come in. 
She never smiles, she never weeps, 
But still her tearless vigil keeps, 
And always says ; ' He's on the way, 
And he is due at home — to-day ! ' 
And gazes at the morning sun 
Counting her fingers, one by one. 



AND IMPERSONATIONS. 11 

O, it is pitiful to see 
How grandly patient she can be ; 
She preens herself with ribbons rare 
And braids fresh roses in her hair, 
Then with serene and tranquil brow 
Sings, Tom, just as you hear her now: 

' Charley ! Charley ! 
Come home to me ! Come home to me !" 

"Poor girl," said Tom, and shook his head; 

" Poor girl — for Sergeant Hall is dead. 

I saw him on that fearful night ; 

He was the foremost in the fight 

The Colonel called for men to leap 

And storm Fort Wagner up the steep : 

One stepped out first, alert and tall, 

And grasped the colors — Sergeant Hall. 

As he was waiting there, he set 

Above the flag a silk rosette, 

And then he smiled and said to me, 

s For love, home and Margery ! ' 

They faced the storm of shot and shell 

And sprang into that blazing hell — 

' Forward ! ' I seem to see them yet ; 

The flag is on the parapet, 

It waves exultant on the crest, 

Falls inward ! — God knows the rest ! 

Poor fellow ! — where the squadron wheeled, 

I saw him buried on the field ! " 

As brother Tom rehearsed the tale 
I marked beyond him, wan and pale, 
Poor Margery bending close to hear, 
And then she shouted, loud and clear : 

" Charley ! Charley ! 
Come home to me ! Come home to me ! " 
" I saw a similar name to-day," 
Said Tom, " There is a man, they say, 
Whose name is Hall, and went from here 
Has been in Andersonville a year ; 



12 READINGS, RECITATIONS. 

Is now escaped, and on his way " 

A shout ! A stalwart man, 
Haggard and grim, and brown with tan, 
Came bursting through the startled crowd 
And swung his arms, and cried aloud ; 
" Stand back ! I hear her sweet voice call ! 
Where's Margery ? I am Sergeant Hall ! " 

O, joy too great for life ! one cry 
She uttered, piercing, wild and high, 
Then all unconscious, dropped to rest, 
Pallid and pulseless on his breast. 
To rest! 

To rest! 

Her eyelids close ; 
Her weary soul has found repose. 
How calm her face ! How peaceful there 
The roses sleep within her hair ! 
Her weary waiting all is o'er, 
Her gallant boy she'll greet no more, 
Till there upon that blighter shore, 
Again he'll clasp her — heart to heart, 
Rejoicing in the muster out. 
Till then from the parapet of Heaven, 
She'll call unto him, morn and eve: 

" Charley ! Charley ! 
Come home to me ! Come home to me ! " 

iV. Y. Graphic. 



« SHARING THANKSGIVING DINNER." 

Ah ! yes, it was hard, and what made it harder, 
Was poor Granny's sickness. A destitute larder — 
Thanksgiving Day here and no prospect ahead 
Of a Thanksgiving feast — what wonder that Ned, 
Who'd learned a few things in Dame Poverty's 

school 
(Could whistle when hungry, if that was the rule), 



AND IMPERSONATIONS. 13 

What wonder his courage had quite given way, 
With Granny unable to get up that day ? 

He sat on the steps where the sunbeams could find 

him, 
His jacket was thin, and the small room behind 
Was chill, lacking fire. The poor child sat musing, 
Like wise philosophers, like them abusing 
The power which to some offers only distresses, 
While others less worthy gain fortune's caresses. 

His heart grew rebellious, and Granny's good teaching 

Was fading away ; just as he was reaching 

The point where blind fate takes the place of God's 

will- 
To the grown, malcontent ; to Ned, it was still 
Just poor folk's bad luck — 'twas just then Granny 

said, 
"Why are you so quiet? Come here to me, Ned." 

The old voice was feeble ; the face was serene 
With patience and hope, but the boy's troubled mien 
Gave pain to the kind heart. " Kneel here by my 

bed, 
And ask the dear Father to send us some bread." 
"And turkey and jelly?" cried Ned, hungrily, 
" Ah ! just as He pleases that portion must be, 
But bread He has promised, that promise we plead. 
And He will feed us who the ravens doth feed." 

Ned's petition was o'er, he again sought the sun, 
With a crust from the cupboard — alas ! the last one. 
But now a sweet fragrance pervaded the air; 
A fragrance unnoticed before the short prayer, 
Attracted by odors that thrilled his starved senses, 
He sniffed like a blood-hound, then leaping the 

fences 
That shut in the farm-house of rich neighbor Moore, 
Quick gained he the back-yard. The kitchen's wide 

door 



14 HEADINGS, RECITATIONS, 

Stood ajar, thus disclosing a glimpse to the child 
Of dinner preparing that set him half wild. 
One was beating fresh eggs, one stirring white cake, 
While turkey and chicken stood ready to bake, 
Pumpkin-pies, rich and spicy, were ranged side by 

side, 
With an odorous mass in the pudding-bag tied. 

While gazing and longing, behold, the Moore geese 
Had gathered around him, to capture a piece 
Of the crust he still held. He shoved them away 
But eagerly still they returned to the fray. 
Till, how, who can tell us ? one goose most alert 
Had knocked down and trampled his crust in the 
dirt. 

A cry of despair! All the dinner he had 
In a moment was gone, the poor little lad 
Fell prone on the ground in a passion of grief ; 
Too crazed to observe that the prayed-for-relief 
Was here at his hand, or that old farmer Moore 
Had watched the whole scene from his sitting-room 
door. 

" Hello ! what's the matter ! Come ; get up my lad, 
The goose stole your dinner f Well, now, that's too 

bad! 
You don't mean to say all the dinner you had ? 
Well, well, which goose was it? That one by the 

fence ; 
He shall pay for it then ; and since he's no sense 
To restore what he stole, my poor little man, 
Do you just take the goose, and then you can plan 
To get back your dinner the best way you can." 

He led the child wondering before Grandma Moore : 
" This child is half starved, wife, and right at our 

door : 
Thanksgiving to us, yes, but think, can it be 
A happy Thanksgiving to poor widow Lee ? " 



AND IMPERSONATIONS. 15 

"God forgive me, I pray," the good woman said, 
"For neglecting the widow and poor little Ned. 
My joy was so great that I clean, clean forgot 
The sorrow and hunger about me. For what, 
With George home from college and Nanny's new 

baby, 
My heart's brimming over with thankfulness. Maybe 
It's not too late yet." 

Well, before you could ask it 
A happy-faced boy and a bountiful basket, 
Each tilled with the best by dear, kind Grandma 

Moore, 
Were helping each other toward Granny Lee's 

door : 
'Twas turkey and jelly — but what need to say? 
'Twas more than Ned dreamed of for Thanksgiving 

Day, 
And we all must admit that Ned was the winner 
When he ate up the goose to get back his dinner. 

Mrs. Emma E. Meguire. 



BABY'S NAME. 

I would like to know the baby's name, if there is one 
can tell it, 

But I haven't seen a person yet, who could begin to 
spell it, 

I'd like to give the child a present, a fork or spoon, 
you know, 

But it ought to have initials on it, that's what pro- 
vokes me so, 

But its father calls it "Popsy's tarlin," "e'tweetents 
and e'deary 

Mustn't pull e tishes so on Popsy's head e geary." 

Its mother calls it " Itty amtin." " Peshus ilty 
teshure 

Wassa masser itty vu ? Mamma's pitty peshure ! " 



16 READINGS, RECITATIONS, 

And all the children call it " Tweet ! " " turn to itty 

buvver ! 
Nevey mindey, don't e ty, it tan do to muvver ! " 
And all its aunties say it is, "a pessus itty teeter! 
A itty 'ump of 'ovviness, an nuffin tan be feeter ! " 

Its grandma says, " Of all e pets in all e wairl so 

wide ; 
A is'nt one so dood as iss, so brave and dignified ! " 
Now is there one can tell me what all this gibberish 

means? 
Nothing but nonsense for his pains, is what an uncle 

gleans, 
But if you can tell the baby's name from all that 

you have heard, 
You'll have an uncle's heartfelt thanks if you'll 

please to send him word. 

School-day Magazine. 



THE FOURTH OF JULY AT JONESVILLE. 

The celebration was held in Josiah's sugarbush, 
an' I meant to be on the ground in good season ; 
for when I have jobs I dread, I'm for takin 'em by 
the forelock, an' graplin' with 'em at once. But 
as I was bakin' my last plum-puddin' an' chicken- 
pie, the folks begun to stream by. I'd no idee so 
many folks could be scairt up in Jonesville. Thinks 
I to myself, I wonder if they'd flock out that way to 
a prayer-meetin'. But they kep' a comin', all kinds 
of folks in all kinds of vehicles, from a six horse 
team, down to peaceable lookin' men an' wimmen 
drawin' baby-wagons. 

There was a stagin' built in 'most the center of 
the grove for the leadin' men of Jonesville, and 
some board seats all round it for the folks to set on. 
As Josiah owned the ground he was invited to set 
up onto the stagin' an' as I glanced up at that man 



AND IMPERSONATIONS. 17 

every little while throughout the da}-, thinks I 
proudly to myself, "There may be nobler lookin' 
men there, and men that would weigh more by the 
steelyards, but there hain't a man there that's got 
on a whiter shirt bosom than Josiah Allen has." 

About noon Prof. Aspire Todd walked slowly 
into the ground arm-in-arm with the editor of "The 
Gimlet,"' old Mr. Bobbet follerin' close behind. As 
they stepped up onto the stagin' the band struck 
up " Hail to the chief, that in triumph advances," 
as soon as it stopped playin' the editor came forrard 
an' said : " Fellow-citizens of Jonesville, and the ad- 
jacent and surroundin' country, I have the honor 
of iutroducin' to you the orator of the day — Prof. 
Aspire Todd, Esq." 

Prof. Todd then came forrard and made a low bow : 
"Brethren and sisters of Jonesville, friends and 
patrons of Liberty, in mountin' upon this theater I 
have thereby signified my desire and willingness to 
address you. I am not here, fellow-citizens, to outrage 
your feelins' by triflin' remarks. I am not here, male 
patrons, to lead your noble, and you, female patrons, 
your tender, footsteps into the flowery fields of use- 
less rhetorical eloquence. I am not here, I trust, in 
mephitical, and I hope not in a mentorial manner. 
But I am here to present a few plain truths, in a 
manner suitable to the most illimitable comprehen- 
sion. My friends, we are, in one sense, but tenni- 
folious blossoms of life; or if you will pardon the 
tergiversation, we are all but mineratin' tennirosters 
hoverin' upon an illinition of mythoplasm." " Jess 
so ! " shouted old Bobbet — who was a settin' on a 
bench right under the speaker's stand — " Jess so ! so 
we be ! " 

Prof. Todd looked down on him in a troubled kind 
of a way, an' then went on : " If we are content to 
moulder out our existence like fibrous veticulated 
polypus, clingin' to the crustaceous courts of custom, 
if we cling not like soarin' prytanes to the phantoms 
that lower their scepters down through the murky 



18 HEADINGS, RECITATIONS, 

waves of retrogression, endeavorin' to lure us upward 
in the scale of progressive bein' — id what degree do 
we differ from the acalphia ? Let us, then, noble 
brethren, in the broad field of humanity, let us rise. 
Let us prove that mind is superior to matter — Let us 
prove ourselves superior to the acalphia." 

" Yes, less prove ourselves." 

Prof. Todd stopped stone still, an' his face got as 
red as blood, he chinked several swallers of water 
and then went on till most the last, when he wanted 
the people of Jonesville to " drown black care in the 
deep waters of oblivion, not mind her mad throes of 
dissolvin' bein', but let the deep waters cover her black 
head an' march onward ! " and then the old gentle- 
man forgot himself, an' jumped right up and hollered 
out — " Yes, drown the black cat ! Hold her head 
under ! There'll be cats enough left after she's gone ! 
Do as he tells ye — drown the black cat ! " 

The next speaker was a large healthy-lookin' man 
who talked against wimmen's rights. He didn't bring 
up no new argyments but talked jest as they all do 
who oppose 'em — about wimmen outragin' and de- 
stroyin' their modesty, by bein' seen in the same 
street with a man once every 'lection day. He talked 
grand about how woman's weakness, aroused all the 
shivelry an' nobility of aman'snater ! and how it was 
his dearest and most sacred privilege an' happiness to 
pertect her from even a summer's breeze, if it should 
dare to blow too hard onto her beloved and delicate 
form. Why, before he had got through, a stranger 
from another world, who hadn't never seen a woman, 
wouldn't a' had the least idea that they was made out 
of the same kind of clay that a man was, but he'd a' 
thought they was made out o' some sort o' thin gauze, 
which was liable to blow away any minute, an' that 
man's only employment was to stand an' watch 'em 
for fear some zephyr'd get the advantage of 'em. He 
called wimmen' every pretty name lie could think of, 
an' says he, a waviu' his hands in a rapid eloquence, 
"shall these weak, helpless creatures, these angels. 



AND IMPERSONATIONS. 19 

these seraphims, these sweetly cooin' doves, whose 
only mission is to sweetly coo — shall these rainbows, 
these posies vote ? Never ! my brethren, will we lay 
such hardships onto them. Never, never, never!" 

Just as the folks was a concludin' their frantic 
cheers over his speech, a thin, feeble-lookin' woman 
come by where I sat, drawin' a large baby-wagon 
with two children in it. She also carried one in her 
arms, that was lame. She looked so beat out, and so 
ready to drop down, that I got up and gave her my 
seat, and says I, " You look ready to fall down." 

" Am I too late — to hear— my husband's — speech ? " 

" Is that your husband that's a laughin' an' talkin' 
with that air pretty gal up there ? " 

« Yes." 

" Wall, he's jest finished." She looked ready to 
cry. An' as I took the lame child out of her breakin' 
arms, says I, " This is too much for you, mum." 
" Oh," says she, " I wouldn't mind gettin' 'em onto the 
ground ; I hain't hed only three miles to bring 'em. 
That wouldn't be much if it wasn't for the work I 
hed to do before I come." 

" Why, what did you have to do ? " 

" Oh, I hed to fix him off, an' brush his clothes, 
an' black his boots ; and then I did up all my work, 
an' then I hed to go out and lay up six lengths o' 
fence. The cattle got into the corn yesterday and he 
was so busy writin' his piece he couldn't fix it — and 
then I hed to mend his thick coat, in the wagon there, 
he didn't know but he should want it to wear home. 
He knew he wasgoin' to make a great exertion to-day 
and he thought he should sweat some. He's dretful 
easy to take cold." 

" Why didn't he help you along with these 'ere 
children ! " says I. " Oh, he said he had to make 
a great effort, an' he wanted to have his mind free 
and clear. He is one of the kind that can't have 
their minds trammeled." 

" It would do him good to be trammeled hard." 

" Oh, mum, don't speak so of him." 



20 READINGS, RECITATIONS. 

" Are you satisfied with his doin's ? "' 

" Oh, yes. You would too, mum, if you knew how 
beautiful he can talk." 

I said no more ; for it is a rule of my life, not to 
make no disturbances in families. But the looks I 
cast at him and that air pretty gal, was cold enough 
to a' froze 'em both into a male and female glazier. 

The editor then came forward and said, " Before we 
leave this festive grove, I am requested to announce 
that a poem will be read by one of the fair young 
ladies of our town, which is dedicated to the God- 
dess of Liberty." Sophrony Gowdey then came for- 
rard an' recited the follerin' lines. 

" Before all causes East or West, 
I love the Liberty cause the best, 

I love its cheerful greetiu's. 
No joys on earth can e'er compare 
With those pure pleasures that we share 

At Jonesville Liberty greetin's meetin's—— 

Greet no, — meetin's. 
At Jonesville Liberty meetin's. 

To all the world I give my hand, 

My heart is with that chosen band, 
The Jonesville Liberty Brothers — 
The Jonesville Liberty Brothers — 

May every land preserved be, 

Each land that dotes on Liberty, 
Jonesville before all others." 

Lawyer Nugent thengot up and said: "That 
whereas—the speakin' was now foreclosed, he mo- 
tioned they should adjourn sine die to the dinner table. 
The dinner was good, but there was an awful crowd 
round the tables an' I was glad I wore my old lawn 
dress; for the children was thick, and so was the 
bread and butter an' sass of all kinds. I jest plunged 
right into the heat o' the battle, as you may say, an' 
the spots on my dress skirt would a' been too much 
fur anybody that couldn't count forty. 

There was a number o' pieces o' toast drunk durin' 
dinner. I can't remember 'em all, but among 'em 
was these : " The Eagle of Liberty - — may her quills 



AND IM PERSONATIONS. 21 

lengthen till the proud shudder of her wings shall 
sweetly rest on every land." 

"The 4th of July: — The star which our fathers 
tore from the ferocious mane of the howling lion of 
England, and set in the calm and majestic brow of 
E Pluribus Unura. May it gleam brighter and 
brighter, till the lion shall hide his dazzled eyes and 
cower like a stricken lamb at the feet of E Pluribus." 

The last piece o' toast was Lawyer Nugent's, an' I 
s'pose when he got it off, he thought he was a gettin' 
off suthin' great. "The fair sect: — First in war, 
first in peace, and first in the hearts of their country- 
men. May them that love the aforesaid flourish like 
a green bay berry tree ; whereas — may them that 
hate 'em dwindle down into as near nuthin' as the 
bunnits of the aforesaid." 

I went home a little while before the picnic broke, 
an' if there ever was a beat-out creetur, I was. I 
jest drapped my dilapidated form into a rocking-chair, 
an says I, " There needn't be another word said ; 
I'll never go to another 4th o' July as long as my 
name is Josiah Allen's Wife." 

" You haint patriotic enough, Samantha, you don't 
love your country." 

" What good's it done to the county to hev me all 
torn to pieces ? Look at my dress ! Look at my 
bunnit and cape ! Anybody ought to be iron-clad 
to stand it ! Look at my dishes," says I. 

" I guess the old heroes of the Revolution went 
through more'n that." 

" Wall, I hain't an old hero." 

" Wall, ye can honor 'em, can't ye ? " 

" Honor 'em ! Josiah Allen, what good's it done to 
old Mr. Lafayette to hev my new earthen pie-plates 
all smashed to bits? What good has it done to 
Thomas Jefferson to have my lawn dress torn off me 
this way? What honor has it been to George Wash- 
ington to have my straw bunnit flatted down tight 
to my head? I am sick of all this talk about 
honorin' these old heroes, and goin' through all these 



22 READINGS, RECITATIONS, 

performances to please 'em; fer if they're in heaven 
they can get along without hearin' the Jonesville 
brass band play, and if they ain't they are probably 
where fireworks hain't much of a rarity. — Jonah 
Allen's Wife. 



THE VOICE OF THE HELPLESS. 

I hear a wail from the woodland ; 

A cry from the forests dim ; 
A sound of woe from the sweet hedge-row, 

From the willows and reeds that rim 
The sedgy pools ; from the meadow grass, 

I hear the fitful cry, alas ! 

It drowns the throb of music, 

The laughter of childhood sweet, 

It seems to rise to the very skies, 
As I walk the crowded street ; 

When I wait on God in the house of prayer, 
I hear the sad wail even there. 

'Tis the cry of the orphaned nestlings, 
'Tis the wail of the bird that sings 

His song of grace in the archer's face ; 
'Tis the flutter of broken wings ; 

'Tis the voice of helplessness — the cry 
Of many a woodland tragedy. 



O, lovely, unthinking maiden, 

The wing that adorns your hat 

Has the radiance rare, that God placed there. 
But I see in the place of that, 

A mockery pitiful, deep, and sad, 
Of all things happy and glad. 

1 mother, you clasp your darling, 

Close to your loving breast ; 
Think of that other, that tender mother, 

Brooding upon her nest 1 . 



AN1) IMPERSONATIONS. 23 

In the little chirp from the field, and wood, 
Does no sound touch your motherhood ? 

That little dead bird on your bonnet, 

Is it worth the cruel wrong ; 
The beauty you wear so proudly there, 

Is the price of the silenced song ; 
The humming bird band on your velvet dress 

Mocks your womanly tenderness. 

I hear a cry from the woodland, 

A voice from the forest dim ; 
A sound of woe from the sweet hedgerow, 

From the willows and reeds that rim 
The sedgy pool ; from the meadow grass 

I hear the pitiful sound, alas ! 

Can you not hear it, my sister, 

Above the heartless behest, 
Of fashion that stands, with cruel hands, 

Despoiling the songful nest? 
Above the voice have you never heard 

The voice of the helpless, hunted bird ? 

Demoresfs Monthly. 



THE GIN FIEND. 

I. 

The tfin Fiend cast his eyes abroad, 

And look'd o'er all the land, 
And number'd his myriad worshippers 

With his bird-like, long right hand. 
He took his place in the teeming street, 

And watched the people go ; 
Around and about, with a buzz and a shout, 

Forever to and fro ; 



24 HEADINGS, RECITATIONS, 

" And it's hip ! " said the Gin Fiend, "hip, hurra! 

For the multitudes I see, 
Who offer themselves in sacrifice, 

And die for the love of me ! " 

II. 

There stood a woman on a bridge, 

She was old, but not witli years — 
Old with excess, and passion, and pain, 

And she wept remorseful tears 
As she gave to her babe her milkless breast ; 

Then, goaded by its cry, 
Made a desperate leap in the river deep, 

In the sight of the passers-by ! 
" And it's hip ! " said the Gin Fiend, " hip, hurra ! 

She sinks ; — but let her be ! 
In life or death, whatever she did, 

Was all for the love of me ! " 

in. 

There watch'd another by the hearth, 

With sullen face and thin ; 
She utter'd words of scorn and hate 

To one that stagger'd in. 
Long had she watch'd, and when he came 

His thoughts were bent on blood ; 
He could not brook her taunting look, 

And he slew her where she stood. 
" And it's hip ! " said the Gin Fiend, "hip, hurra ! 

My right good friend is he ; 
He hath slain his wife, he hath given his life, 

And all for the love of me ! " 

IV. 

And every day, in the crowded way, 

He takes his fearful stand, 
And numbers his myriad worshippers 

With his bird-like, long right hand ; 



AND IMPERSONATIONS. 25 

And every day, the weak and strong, 

Widows, and maids, and wives, 
Blood-warm, blood-cold, young men and old, 

Offer the Fiend their lives. 
" And it's hip ! " he says, " hip ! hip ! hurra ! 

For the multitudes I see ; 
That sell their souls for the burning drink, 

And die for the love of me ! " 



FIRST SOLILOQUY OF A RATIONALISTIC 
CHICKEN. 

Most strange ! most queer ! 

Though so excellent a change ! 

Shades of the prison house, ye disappear ; 

My fettered thoughts have won a wider range 

And like my legs are free. 

Free now, to pry and poke and peep and peer, 

And make these mysteries out. 

Shall a free-thinking chicken live in doubt ? 

Yet now in doubt undoubtedly I am. 

This problem's very heavy on my mind. 

And I'm not one to either shirk or sham, 

I won't be blinded, and I won't be blind. 

Now let me see. First I would know 

How I did get in there, then 

Where was I of yore ? 

Besides, why didn't I get out before ? 

Dear me ! Here are three puzzles 

Out of plenty more. 

Enough to give me pip upon the brain, 

But let me think again, 

How do I know I ever was inside ? 

Now I reflect, it is, I do maintain, 

Less than my reason and beneath my pride 

To think that I could dwell 

In such a paltry, miserable cell 

As that old shell. 



26 HEADINGS, RECITATIONS, 

Of course I couldn't. 

How could I have been 

Body and beak and feather, legs and wings, 

And my deep heart's sublime imaginings 

In there? 

I meet the notion with profound disdain, 

It's quite incredible, and I declare — 

And I'm a chicken you can't deceive — 

What I can't understand I won't believe. 

Where did I come from then ? 

Ah, where indeed ! 

That is a riddle monstrous hard to read, 

I have it ! Why, of course, 

All things are molded by some plastic force, 

Out of some atom, somewhere up in space. 

Fortuitously concurrent anyhow, 

There now, that's plain 

As the beak upon my face. 

What's that I hear ? 

My mother cackling at me ? 

Just her way 

So ignorant and prejudiced, I say. 

So far behind the wisdom of the day, 

What's old, I can't revere. 

Hark at her ! 

" You're a silly chick, my dear, 

That's quite as plain, alack, 

As is the piece of shell upon your back ! " 

How bigoted ! Upon my back indeed ! 

I don't believe it's there ! 

For I can't see it, 

And I do declare, 

For all her fond deceivin', 

What I can't see, I never will believe in, 

And that's all J 



AND LUrMUiSUNATIONS. 27 



THE SLEEP-WALKING SCENE FROM 
« MACBETH." 

(Enter Lady Macbeth, rubbing her hands.') 

Yet here's a spot ! Out ! out, damned spot ! out, 
I say ! One, — two, — why then 'tis time to do it ! 
Fie, my lord, fie ! a soldier and afeard ? What need 
we fear who knows it, when there's none can call our 
power to account ? — Yet who would have thought 
the old man to have had so much blood in him ? 

The Thane of Fife had a wife — Where is she now? 
What ! Will these hands ne'er be clean? No more 
o' that ! my lord, no more o' that ! You mar all 
with this starting ! 

Here's the smell of the blood still ! All the per- 
fumes of Arabia cannot sweeten this little hand ! 
Oh ! oh ! oh ! 

Wash your hands ! put on your night-gown ! look 
not so pale ! I tell you yet again Bauquo's buried ! 
He cannot come out of his grave ! To bed ! to bed ! 
There's knocking at the gate ! Come, come, come ! 
Give me your hand !, What's done cannot be un- 
done ! To bed ! To bed ! To bed ! — Shakespeare. 



THE CHILD-WIFE. 

(Prize Selection, June, 1888, N. Mo. State Normal.) 

All this time I had gone on loving Dora harder 
than ever. If I may so express it, I was steeped in 
Dora. I was not merely over head and ears in love 
with her, I was saturated through and through. I 
took night walks to Norwood where she lived, and 
perambulated round and round the house and garden 
for hours together : looking through crevices in the 



28 READINGS, RECITATIONS, 

palings, using violent exertions to get my chin above 
the rusty nails on top, blowing kisses at the lights in 
the windows and romantically calling on the night to 
shield my Dora, — I don't exactly know from what, — 
I suppose from mice, to which she had a great ob- 
jection. 

Dora had a discreet friend whose name was Miss 
Mills. Dora called her Julia. She was the bosom 
friend of Dora. Happy Miss Mills ! One day she 
said to me : " Dora is coming to stay with me. She 
is coming the day after to-morrow. If you would like 
to call, I am sure papa would be happy to see you." 

I spent three days in a luxury of wretchedness. At 
last arrayed for the purpose at a vast expense, I 
went to Miss Mills's fraught with a declaration. Mr. 
Mills was not at home. 1 didn't expect he would be. 
Nobody wanted him. Miss Mills was at home. And 
I was shown into a room where she and Dora were. 
Dora's little dog Jip was there. Miss Mills was copy- 
ing music and Dora was painting flowers. What were 
my feelings when I recognized flowers I had given 
her ! Miss Mills was very glad to see me, and very 
sorry her papa was not at home, though I thought we 
all bore that with fortitude. Miss Mills was conver- 
sational for a few minutes then got up and left the 
room. 

I began to think I would put it off till to-morrow. 

" I hope your poor horse was not tired when he got 
home from that picnic," said Dora, lifting up her 
beautiful eyes. " It was a long way for him." 

I began to think I would do it to-day. 

" It was a long way for him, for he had nothing to 
uphold him on his journey." 

" Wasn't he fed, poor thing ? " 

I began to think I would put it off till to-morrow. 

" Ye — yes, he was well taken care of. I mean he 
had not the unutterable happiness that I had in being 
so near to you." 

I saw now that I was in for it, and it must be done 
on the spot. 



AND IMPERSONATIONS. 29 

"I don't know why you should care for being near 
me, or why you should call it a happiness. But of 
course you don't mean what you say. Jip, you 
naughty boy, come here ! " 

1 don't know how I did it, but I did it in a minute. 
I intercepted Jip. I had Dora in my arms. I was 
full of eloquence. I never stopped for a word. I 
told her how I loved her. I told her I should die 
without her. I told her that I idolized and worshipped 
her. Jip barked madly all the time, but my elo- 
quence increased, and I said if she would like me to 
die for her, she had but to say the word and I was 
ready. I had loved her to distraction every minute, 
day and night, since I first set eyes upon her. I loved 
her at that minute to distraction. I should always love 
her every minute to distraction. Lovers had loved 
before, and lovers would love again ; but no lover had 
ever loved, might, could, would or should love as I 
loved Dora. The more I raved the more Jip barked. 
Each of us in his own way got more mad every minute. 

Well, well : Dora and I were sitting on the sofa, 
by and by quiet enough, and Jip was lying in her 
lap winking peacefully at me. It was off my mind. 
I was in a state of perfect rapture. Dora and I 
were engaged. 

Being poor, I felt it necessary the next time I 
went to my darling to expatiate upon that un- 
fortunate drawback. I soon carried desolation into 
the bosom of our joys — not that I meant to do it, 
but that I was so full of the subject — by asking 
Dora without the smallest preparation if she could 
love a beggar. 

" How can you ask me anything so foolish ? 
Love a beggar ! " 

" Dora, my own dearest, I am a beggar ! " 

" How can you be such a silly thing as to sit there 
telling such stories ? I'll make Jip bite you if you 
are so ridiculous." 

But I looked so serious that Dora began to cry, 



30 BEADING S, RECITATION S t _ 

She did nothing but exclaim, Oh, dear ! Oh, dear ! 
And oh, she was so frightened ! and where was 
Julia Mills ? And oh, take her to Julia Mills, and 
go away, please ! until I was almost beside myself. 
I thought I had killed her. I sprinkled water on 
her face ; I went down on my knees ; I plucked at 
my hair ; I besought her forgiveness, and implored 
her to look up, which she finally did with a horrified 
expression which I gradually soothed until it was 
only loving and her soft pretty cheek was lying 
against mine. 

" Is your heart mine still, dear Dora ? " 

" Oh, yes ! Oh, yes ! it's all yours. Oh, don't be 
dreadful." 

" My dearest love, the crust well earned " 

" Oh, yes ; but I don't want to hear any more 
about crusts. And after we are married, Jip must 
have his mutton chop every day at twelve or he'll 
die." 

I was charmed with her childish, winning way, 
and I fondly explained to her that Jip should have 
his mutton chop with his accustomed regularity. 

Time passed on and Dora and I were married. 
I doubt whether two young birds could have known 
less about housekeeping than I and my pretty Dora 
did. We had a servant of course. She kept house 
for us. And an awful time of it we had with Mary 
Ann. She was the cause of our first little quarrel. 

" My dearest life," I said one day to Dora, " do 
you think that Mary Ann has any idea of time ? " 

"Why, Doady?" 

" Because, my love, it is five, and we were to have 

dined at four. Don't you think, my dear, it 

would be better for you to remonstrate with Mary 
Ann ? " 

" Oh, no, please ! I couldn't, Doady ! " 

" Why not, my love ? " 

" Oh, because I'm such a little goose, and she 
knows I am ! " 

I thought this sentiment so incompatible with the 



AND IMPERSONATIONS. 31 

establishment of any system of check upon Mary 
Ann that I frowned a little. 

" My precious wife, we must be serious sometimes. 
Come sit down on this chair close beside me. Now 
let us talk sensibly. You know, my dear, it is not 
exactly comfortable to have to go out without one's 
dinner. Now is it? " 

" N-n-n-no ! " 

" My love, how you tremble ! " 

" Because I know you are going to scold ! " 

" My sweet, I am only going to reason ! " 

" Oh, but reasoning is worse than scolding ! I 
didn't marry to be reasoned with. If you meant to 
reason with such a poor little creature as I, you 
ought have told me so, you cruel boy ! " 

" Dora, my darling ! " 

" No, I am not your darling. Because you must 
be sorry you married me, or else you wouldn't reason 
with me ! " 

" Now, my own Dora, you are childish and are talk- 
ing nonsense. You must remember, I am sure, that 
I was obliged to go out yesterday when dinner was 
half over ; and that the day before, I was made quite 
ill by being obliged to eat underdone veal in a hurry ; 
to-day, I don't dine at all, and I am afraid to say 
how long we waited for breakfast. I don't mean to 
reproach you, my dear, but this is not comfortable." 

" Oh, you cruel, cruel boy, to say I am a disagree- 
able wife ! " 

"Now, my dear Dora, you must know that I 
never said that ! " 

" You said I wasn't comfortable ! " 

" I said the housekeeping was not comfortable ! " 

" It's exactly the same thing ! and I wonder, I do, 
at your making such ungrateful speeches. When 
you know that the other day when you said you 
would like a little bit of fish, I went out myself, 
miles and miles, and ordered it just to surprise 3 r ou." 

"And it was very kind of you, my own darling; 
and I felt it so much, that I wouldn't on any account 



32 READINGS, RECITATIONS, 

have mentioned that you bought a salmon, which 
was too much for two, and that you paid one pound 
six, which is more than we can afford." 

" You enjoyed it very much, and you said I was a 
mouse." 

" And I'll say so again, my love, a thousand 
times ! " 

I said it a thousand times and went on saying it, 
until Dora was comforted and once more smiled upon 
me with those beautiful eyes. 

" I am very sorry for all this, Doady," said Dora, 
at last. " Will you call me a name I want you to 
call me ? " 

"What is it, my love?" 

" It's a stupid name, — child-wife. When you are 
going to be angry with me, say to yourself, ' It's 
only my child-wife.' When I am very disappoint- 
ing, say, ' I knew a long time ago that she would make 
but a child-wife.' When you miss what you would 
like me to be, and what I should like to be, and what 
I think I never can be, say, w Still my foolish child- 
wife loves me.' For indeed, I do, Doady." 

I invoke the innocent figure I so dearly loved to 
come out of the mists and shadows of the past, and 
to turn its gentle head towards me once again, and 
to bear witness that it was made happy by what I 
answered. — Charles Dickens. 



HIAWATHA'S WOOING. 

{Prize Selection, at the North Mo. State Normal, June, 

"As unto the bow the cord is, 
So unto the man is woman, 
Though she bends him, she obeys him, 
Though she draws him, yet she follows, 
Useless each without the other," 



AND IMPERSONATIONS. 33 

Thus my youthful Hiawatha 
Said within himself and pondered, 
Listless, longing, hoping, fearing, 
Dreaming still of Minnehaha, 
Of the lovely Laughing Water, 
In the land of the Dakotas. 

" Wed a maiden of your people," 
Warning spake the old Nokomis, 
" Go not eastward, go not westward, 
For a stranger whom we know not ! 
Like a fire upon the hearthstone 
Is a neighbor's homely daughter, 
Like the starlight or the moonlight 
Is the handsomest of strangers ! " 

Thus dissuading spake Nokomis, 
And my Hiawatha answered 
Only this : " Dear old Nokomis, 
Very pleasant is the firelight 
But I like the starlight better, 
Better do I like the moonlight ! " 

Gravely, then, said old Nokomis : 
" Bring not here an idle maiden, 
Bring not here a useless woman." 

Smiling answered Hiawatha, 
" In the land of the Dakotas 
Lives the Arrow-maker's daughter 
Minnehaha — Laughing Water, 
I will bring her to your wigwam, 
She shall run upon your errands, 
Be your starlight, moonlight, firelight, 
Be the sunlight of my people." 

Thus departed Hiawatha 
To the land of the Dakotas, 
Striding over moor and meadow 
Through interminable forests 
Till he heard the cataract's laughter. 
3 



34 BEADING S, RECITATIONS, 

Heard the Falls of Minnehaha 

Calling to him through the silence, 

" Welcome, welcome, Hiawatha, Hiawatha ! " 

On the outskirts of the forest, 
'Twixt the shadow and the sunshine, 
Herds of fallow deer were feeding, 
But they saw not Hiawatha. 
To his bow and arrow whispered, 
" Fail not, swerve not ! " 
Sent it singing on its errand 
To the red heart of the roe-buck, 
Threw the deer across his shoulder, 
And sped forward without pausing. 

At the doorway of his wigwam, 
Sat the ancient Arrow-maker. 
At his side in all her beauty 
Sat the lovely Minnehaha. 
Of the past the old man's thoughts were, 
But the maiden's of the future. 
He was thinking as he sat there, 
Of the days when with such arrows 
He had struck the deer and bison 
Shot the wild-goose flying southward, 
She was thinking of a hunter, 
From another tribe and country, 
Who one morning in the spring-time 
Came to buy her father's arrows, 
Would lie come again for arrows 
To the Falls of Minnehaha? 

Through their thoughts they heard a footstep, 
Heard a rustling in the branches, 
And with glowing cheek and forehead, 
Hiawatha stood before them. 

Straight the ancient Arrow-maker 
Bade him enter at the doorway, 
Saying as he rose to meet him, 
" Hiawatha, you are welcome." 



AND IMPERSONATIONS. 35 

At the feet of Laughing Water 
Hiawatha laid his burden, 
And the maiden looked up at him, 
Said with gentle look and accent, 
" You are welcome, Hiawatha." 

Then the lovely Laughing Water 
Listened while the guest was speaking 
Yea as in a dream she listened 
To the words of Hiawatha, 
As he told of old Nokomis 
Who had nursed him in his childhood, 
As he told of his companions 
In the pleasant land and peaceful. 
" That this peace may last forever, 
And our hearts be more united, 
Give me as my wife this maiden, 
Minnehaha — Laughing Water." 
" Yes — if Minnehaha wishes, 
Let your heart speak, Minnehaha." 

Then the lovely Laughing Water 

Said, and blushed to say it, 

" I will follow you, my husband." 

This was Hiawatha's wooing, 
Thus it was he won the daughter 
Of the tribe of the Dokotas. 

From the wigwam he departed 
Leading with him Laughing Water. 
Left the old man standing lonely 
At the doorway of his wigwam, 
While the Falls of Minnehaha 
Called unto them from the distance 
Crying to them from afar off — 
"Fare-thee-well, O Minnehaha ! " 

Pleasant was the journey homeward, 
All the traveling winds went with them, 
All the stars of night watched o'er them, 
And the rabbit and the squirrel, 



BfiADltfGS, RECITATIONS, 

Scampered from the path before them 
Peeping, peeping from their burrows 
Watched with curious eyes the lovers. 
From the sky the sun benignant 
Looked upon them through the branches, 
Saying to them,"oh, my children, 
Love is sunshine, hate is shadow, 
Rule by love, O Hiawatha." 

From the sky the moon looked at them, 
Filled the mystic lodge with splendors, 
Whispered to them,"oh, my children, 
Day is restless, night is quiet, 
Man imperious, woman feeble, 
Rule by patience, Laughing Water." 

Pleasant was the journey homeward, 
All the birds sang loud and sweetly 
Songs of happiness and hearts-ease, 
Sang the bobolink from the meadow, 
" Happy are you, Hiawatha 
Having such a wife to love you, • 
Happy are you, Minnehaha, 
Having such a noble husband." 

Longfellow. 



THE FAMINE. 

Oh, the long and dreary winter ! 
Oh, the cold and cruel winter ! 
Ever thicker, thicker, thicker 
Froze the ice on lake and river ; 
Ever deeper, deeper, deeper 
Fell the snow o'er all the landscape. 

Hardly from his buried wigwam 
Could the hunter force a passage 
Vainly walked he through the forest, 
Sought for bird or beast and found none, 



AND IMPERSONATIONS. 37 

Saw no track of deer or rabbit, 
In the ghastly gleaming forest 
Fell, and could not rise for weakness, 
Perished there from cold and hunger. 

Oil, the famine and the fever ! 
Oh, the wasting of the famine ! 
Oh, the blasting of the fever ! 
All the earth was sick and famished; 
All the air and sky were hungry. 

Into Hiawatha's wigwam 
Came two other guests, as silent 
As the ghosts were, and as gloomy; 
Sat there without word of welcome, 
In the seat of Laughing Water ; 
Looked with haggard eyes and hollow, 
At the face of Laughing Water. 
And the foremost said : " Behold me ! 
I am Famine, Bukadawin ! " 
And the other said : " Behold me ! 
I am Fever, Ahkosewin ! " 
And the lovely Minnehaha 
Shuddered as they looked upon her, 
Lay down on her bed in silence, 
Hid her face, but made no answer. 
Lay there trembling, freezing, burning 
At the fearful words they uttered. 

Forth into the empty forest 
Rushed the maddened Hiawatha, 
On his brow the sweat of anguish 
Started, but it froze and fell not, 
And he cried with face uplifted, 
In that bitter hour of anguish, 
" Gitche Manito, the Mighty ! 
Give your children food, O Father 1 
Give us food or we must perish ! 
Give me food for Minnehaha, 
For in}* dying Minnehaha ! " 

Through the far resounding forest 



38 HEADINGS, RECITATIONS, 

Through the forest vast and vacant, 
Rang that cry of desolation, 
But there came no other answer, 
Than the echo of his crying, 
" Minnehaha ! Minnehaha ! " 

In the wigwam with Nokomis, 
And the gloomy guests that watched her, 
She was lying, the beloved, 
She the dying Minnehaha. 
" Hark ! " she said, " I hear a rushing, 
Hear a roaring and a rushing, 
Hear the Falls of Minnehaha 
Calling to me from the distance ! " 
" No, m} r child ! " said old Nokomis, 
"'Tis the night wind in the pine trees!" 
" Look ! " she said, " I see my father 
Standing lonely at his doorway, 
Beckoning to me from his wigwam ! " 
" No, my child," said old Nokomis, 
" 'Tis the smoke that waves and beckons ! 
" Ah ! " she said, " the eyes of Pauguk 
Glare upon me in the darkness, 
I can feel his icy fingers 
Clasping mine amid the darkness ! 
Hiawatha ! Hiawatha ! " 

And the desolate Hiawatha, 
Far away among the mountains, 
Heard that sudden cry of anguish, 
Heard the voice of Minnehaha 
Calling to him from the distance, 
" Hiawatha ! Hiawatha ! " 
Homeward hurried Hiawatha, 
Empty-handed — heavy-hearted, 
Heard Nokomis moaning, wailing ; 
" Would that I had perished for you, 
Would that I were dead as you are, 
Wahonowin ! Wahonowin ! " 

And he rushed into the wigwam, 



AND IMPERSONATIONS. 39 

Saw his lovely Minnehaha 
Lying dead and cold before him, 
And his bursting heart within him 
Uttered such a cry of anguish 
That the forest moaned and shuddered. 

Then he sat down still and speechless, 
At the feet of Minnehaha, 
At those willing feet that never 
More would lightly run to meet him 
Never more would lightly follow. 
As in a swoon he sat there, 
Speechless, motionless, unconscious 
Of the daylight or the darkness. 
Then they buried Minnehaha ; 
In the snow a grave they made her, 
Underneath the moaning hemlocks, 
Wrapped her in her robes of ermine, 
Covered her with snow-like ermine. 
" Farewell ! " said he, " Minnehaha ; ' 
Farewell, O my Laughing Water ! 
All my heart is buried with you 
All my thoughts go onward with you! 
Come not back again to suffer 
When the Famine and the Fever 
Wear the heart and waste the body. 
Soon my task will be completed, 
Soon your footsteps I shall follow 
To the Islands of the Blessed, 
To the Land of the Hereafter." 

Longfellow. 



THE LITTLE HOUSEKEEPER. 

O, dear ! I'se so dreff ul tired, been washin' so hard 

mose all day; 
S'pect these tlose had better be ironed, hope mamma 

'11 keep Freddie away, 



40 BEADING S, RECITATIONS, 

He bovers me so, and '11 wake Lottie, 'fore it's time 

to take her up. 
Then she kies and kies so naughty, I dives her some 

soofsin syrup. 

Guess Dollie's tuttin' her toofies, tause she kies so 

mose ever day ; 
I'll buy her a wubber to bite on, I'se dot free cents 

for the pay. 
I must dit somebody's to hep me, I'se dot so much 

works for to do ! 
Dollie must have two or free dresses, and a cloak 

made " a la Watteau." 

Guess its about time to dit dinner, tause Lottie '11 

want somesin to eat ; 
My sakes ! I mose tut my finner, tryin' to slice that 

cold meat. 
I'll borrow some zerves of my mamma, 'tause her's 

dot lots of 'em I know, 
She teeps 'em up high in the tloset, I heard her 

tell B'iget so. 

I detlare ! this house does look awful ; I wonder 

what mamma will say 
'Bout the water I 'pilled on the tarpet, when I'se 

taten' the tubs away. 
B'ess me ! if Lottie hain't wakin', and kien and 

kien to be taked ; 
And I hain't dot dinner ready, the tookies ain't 

more'n half baked. 

O, dear ! this world's full of trouble, and baby's as 

cross as a bear 
With a sore head ; and my life is chuck full of sorrer 

and tare» 
Turn to your muzzer, you dear 'ittle wose-bud, you're 

sweeter than whole lots of pinks, 
Be a dood dirl now and keep very quiet and muzzer 

will sing " Cap'n Jinks," 



AND IMPERSONATIONS. 41 

THE PRESENT AGE. 

(Prize Declamation, May, 1S90, N. Mo. State Normal.) 

The Present Age. In those brief words what a 
world of thought is comprehended ! What infinite 
movements ! What joys and sorrows ! What hope 
and despair ! What faith and doubt! What silent 
grief and loud lament ! What fierce conflicts and 
subtle schemes of policy ! What private and public 
revolutions ! 

In the period through which many of us have 
passed, what thrones have been shaken ! What 
hearts have bled ! What millions have been butchered 
by their fellow men! What hopes of philanthropy 
have been blighted ! 

At the same time what magnificent enterprises 
have been achieved ! What new provinces won to 
science and art ! What rights and liberties secured 
to nations ! Aye — it is a privilege to have lived in 
an age so stirring, so eventful ! It is an age never to 
be forgotten. Its voice of warning and encourage- 
ment is never to die. Its impression on history is 
indelible. 

Amid its events the American Revolution — the 
first distinct, solemn assertion of the rights of men — 
and the French Revolution — that volcanic force, 
which shook the earth to its very centre — are never 
to pass from men's minds. Over this age the night 
will indeed gather more and more as time rolls away ; 
but in that night two forms will appear. Washing- 
ton and Napoleon ! The one a lurid meteor, the 
other a benign, serene, and undecaying star. 

Another American name will appear in history. 
Your Franklin ; and the kite which brought light- 
ning from heaven, will be seen sailing in the clouds 
by remote posterity when the city where he dwelt 
may be known only by its ruins. 



42 HEADINGS, RECITATIONS, 

There is, however, something greater in the age 
than its greatest men ; it is the appearance of a new 
power in the world, the appearance of the multitude 
on the stage, where as yet the few have acted their 
parts alone. This influence is to endure to the end 
of time. What more of the present is to survive? 
Perhaps much of which we now take no note. The 
glory of an age is often hidden from itself. Perhaps 
some word has been spoken in our day which we 
have not deigned to hear, but which is to grow clearer 
and louder through all ages. Perhaps some silent 
thinker among us is at work in his closet, whose 
name is to fill the earth. Perhaps there sleeps in his 
cradle some reformer who is to move the church, and 
the world ; who is to open a new era in history, who 
is to fire the human soul with new hope and new 
daring. 

What else is to survive the age ? That which the 
age has little thought of, but which is living in us 
all; I mean the soul, the immortal Spirit ! Of this, 
all ages are the unfolding, and it is greater than all. 
We must not feel in the contemplation of the vast 
movements in our own and former times, as if we 
ourselves were nothing. I repeat it, we are greater 
than all. We are to survive our age, to comprehend 
it, and to pronounce its sentence. — W. E. Channing. 



MR. HORNER ON GRUMBLE CORNER. 

I knew a man and his name was Horner, 
Who used to live on Grumble Corner ; 
Grumble Corner in Cross Patch Town, 
And he never was seen without a frown. 
He grumbled at this ; he grumbled at that; 
He growled at the dog ; he growled at the cat ; 
He grumbled at morning; he grumbled at night ; 
And to grumble and growl was his chief delight. 



AND IMPERSONATIONS. 43 

lie grumbled so much at his wife that she 

Began to grumble as well as he ; 

And all the children wherever they went, 

Reflected their parents' discontent. 

If the sky was dark and betokened rain, 

Then Mr. Horner was sure to complain ; 

And if there was never a cloud about, 

He'd grumble because of a threatened drought 

His meals were never to suit his taste ; 
He grumbled at having to eat in haste ; 
The bread was poor, or the meat was tough, 
Or else he hadn't had half enough. 
No matter how hard his wife might try 
To please her husband, with scornful eye 
He'd look around, and then, with a scowl 
At something or other begin to growl. 

One day as I loitered along the street, 
My old acquaintance I chanced to meet, 
Whose face was without the look of care 
And the ugly frown that it used to wear. 
" I may be mistaken, perhaps," I said, 
As, after saluting, I turned my head ; 
" But it is, and it isn't, the Mr. Horner 
Who lived for so long on Grumble Corner ! " 

I met him next day, and I met him again, 

In melting weather, in pouring rain, 

When stocks were up and when stocks were down ; 

But a smile somehow had replaced the frown. 

It puzzled me much ; and so one day 

I seized his hand in a friendly way, 

And said : " Mr. Horner, I'd like to know 

What can have happened to change you so? " 

He laughed a laugh that was good to hear, 
For it told of a conscience calm and clear, 
And he said, with none of the old-time drawl: 
" Why, I've changed my residence, that is all ! " 



44 READINGS, RECITATIONS, 

" Changed your residence ? " " Yes," said Horner, 
" It wasn't healthy on Grumble Corner, 
And so I moved : 'twas a change complete, 
And you'll find me now on Thanksgiving Street!" 

Now, every day, as I move along 

The streets so filled with the busy throng, 

I watch each face and can always tell 

Where men and women and children dwell ; 

And many a discontented mourner 

Is spending his days on Grumble Coiner, 

Sour and sad, whom I long to entreat 

To take a house on Thanksgiving Street. 

New York Independent. 



"FLIGHT OF THE ANGEL GABRIEL." 

Conceive, if you can, the splendors that must have 
burst upon the eye of that fair Intelligence, as he 
floats off from the Heavenly World, and directs his 
flight toward the earth. On he speeds, through suns 
and systems, and starry groups, while constellation 
after constellation rises rapidly around him every- 
where, greeting at every stage new glories, that call 
forth new praises to Him who gave to his mighty pin- 
ions their power. On the right he beholds a grand 
star system, in form like unto a lily, glittering with the 
dew of heaven ; on the left, another grand cluster 
stands out against the black background of the sky, 
like a vast pillar, on whose summit the light of the 
" Beautiful Land " is playing. Another still is seen, 
in form like unto a rose, as though blooming in the 
garden of God ; while others still, resemble goblets, 
sparkling to the brim with celestial light. On, he 
speeds, while suns and systems blaze up in wild splen- 
dor, then recede into the awful depths behind him. 
At length one great, grand cluster appears, in form 



AND IMPERSONATIONS. 45 

like unto a ring, as though made of the finger of 
Deity — 'tis the Milky Way, to which our sun belongs. 
He speeds toward it, and passes in among its con- 
stellations. 

To the north he beholds Cassiopeia, on her five- 
starred throne ; farther south great Orion appears 
with his blazon belt and Sirius burning in his awful 
lustre. Not far off the Pleiades appear, glittering 
with supernal splendor, like a breast-plate on the 
bosom of Deity — the Urim and Thummim of the Eter- 
nal ! Far to the south the Southern Cross appears, 
its blood-red stars typical of the blood shed upon 
another cross 18 centuries ago. At length a brilliant 
star catches his eye. "Tis our sun ! He speeds to- 
ward it, and passes in among the planetary bodies. 
First come Neptune and Uranus, then Saturn with 
his many moons, and glittering ring systems. Then 
he beholds great Jupiter — great Titan of the sky ! 
and the little red planet Mars. Close to the sun 
the little sparklers, Mercury and Vulcan, appear, and 
Venus, quivering in the ambient air, till at length 
one little blue star catches his eye — 'tis our earth. 
He speeds toward it ; hovers 'round it for a moment, 
like a humming-bird 'round a flower — dips into its 
blue atmosphere : and alights at the feet of the as- 
tonished Daniel at the hour of the evening oblation ! 
Beloved, such may be life among the stars ! If so, 
may such life be yours and mine. — Prof. Ferguson. 



BABY. 

Where did you come from, baby dear? 
Out of the everywhere into the here. 

Where did you get those eyes so blue ? 
Out of the. sky as I came through. 

What makes the light in them sparkle and spin ? 
Some of the starry spikes left in. 



46 READINGS, RECITATIONS, 

Where did you get that little tear ? 
I found it waitiug when I got here. 

What makes your forehead so smooth and high ? 
A soft hand stroked it as I went by. 

What makes your cheeks like a warm white rose ? 
I saw some thing better than any one knows. 

Whence that three-cornered smile of bliss? 
Three angels gave me at once a kiss. 

Where did you get this pearly ear ? 
God spoke and it came out to hear. 

Where did you get those arms and hands ? 
Love made itself into bonds and bands. 

Feet, whence did you come, you darling things? 
From the same box as the cherubs' wings. 

How did they all just come to be you ? 
God thought about me, and so I grew. 

But how did you come to us, you dear? 
God thought about you, and so I am here. 

MacDonald. 



NOTHING TO WEAR. 

Miss Flora McFlirasy of Madison Square, 

Has made three separate journe}^ to Paris, 
And her father assures me each time she was there 

That she and her friend, Mrs. Harris, 
Spent six consecutive weeks without stopping 
In one continuous round of shopping. 
Shopping alone and shopping together, 
At all hours of the day and in all sorts of weather 
For all manner of things that a woman could put 
On the crown of her head, or the sole of her foot, 
Or wrap round her shoulders, or fit round her waist, 
Or that can be sewed on, or pinned or laced, 



AND IMPERSONATIONS. 47 

Or tied on with a string or stitched on with a bow, 
In front or behind, above or below. 

Dresses for home, and the street, and the hall, 
Dresses for winter, spring, summer, and fall, 
Dresses to sit in, and stand in, and walk in, 
Dresses to dance in, and flirt in, and talk in, 
And dresses to do nothing at all in. 
All of them different in color and pattern, 
Silk, muslin, and lace, crape, velvet and satin. 
Nothing to wear ! why I've heard her declare, 
When at the same moment, she had on a dress, 
That cost five hundred dollars, and not a cent less, 
That she " had not a thing in the wide world to wear." 

I should mention just here, that out of Miss Flora's 
Two hundred and fifty or sixty adorers, 
I had just been selected as he who should throw 
All the rest in the shade, by the gracious bestowal, 
On myself, after twenty or thirty rejections 
Of those fossil remains, which she termed her affec- 
tions. 
Well, having thus wooed Miss McFlimsy and gained 

her, 
With the silks, crinolines and hoops that contained 

her, 
I had, as I thought, a contingent remainder, 
At least in the property, and the best right 
To appear as its escort, by day and by night. 
And it being the week of the Stuckup's grand ball, 
I considered it only my duty to call, 
And see if Miss Flora intended to go. 

She turned as I entered, " Why, Harry, you sinner, 
I thought that you went to the Flashers to dinner." 
" So I did," I replied, " but the dinner is swallowed 
And digested, I trust, for 'tis now nine and more, 
So, being relieved from that duty, I followed inclina- 
tion, 
Which leads me, you see, to your door. 



48 READINGS, RECITATIONS, 

And now, will your ladyship so condescend 

As just to inform me if you intend, 

Your beauty, and grace, and presence to lend, 

To the Stuckup's grand party to-morrow ? " 

The fair Flora looked up with a pitiful air, 

And answered quite promptly, "Why, Harry, my dear, 

I should love above all things to go with you there, 

But really, and truly, Tve nothing to wear." 

" Nothing to wear f Go just as you are, 
Wear the dress you have on, and you'll be by far, 
I am sure, the most bright and particular star, 
On the Stuckup horizon." I stopped, for her eye, 
Notwithstanding this delicate onset of flattery, 
Opened on me at once a most terrible battery 
Of scorn and amazement. She made no reply, 
But gave a slight turn to the end of her nose — 
That pure Grecian feature — as much as to say, 
" How absurd that any sane man should suppose 
That a lady would go to a ball in the clothes, 
No matter how fine, that she wears every day." 

So I ventured again, " Wear your crimson brocade." 

Second turn up of nose — " That's too dark by a shade." 

" Your blue silk." " That's too heavy." 

" Your pink then." " That's too light." 

" Wear tulle over satin." " Oh, Harry, I can't endure 

white." 
" Your rose-color then, the best of the batch." 
" But I haven't a thread of point-lace to match." 
" Your brown moire antique." " Yes, and look like 

a Quaker." 
" Your pearl-colored." " I would, but that plaguy 

dressmaker 
Has had it a week." " Then that exquisite lilac, 
In which you would melt the heart of a Shylock." 
Here the nose took again that same elevation — 
" I wouldn't wear that for the whole of creation ! " 
"Why not? 'Tis lovely as can be." 
" Yes, but dear me, that lean Sophronia Stuckup 



AND IMPERSONATIONS. 49 

Has one just like it, and I won't appear 
Dressed like a chit of sixteen." 

" Then that splendid purple, that sweet mazarin." 

" Which most of all isn't fit to be seen," 

Said the lady, becoming excited and flushed. 

" Then wear," I exclaimed in a tone which quite 

crushed 
Opposition, "that gorgeous toilet which you sported 
In Paris last spring at the grand presentation 
When you quite turned the heads of the nation." 
" I have worn it three times at the least calculation, 
And that with the rest of my dresses is ripped up." 
Here I ripped out something, perhaps rather rash, 
Quite innocent though, — but to use an expression 
More striking than classic, — It settled my hash, 
And proved very soon the last act of our session. 

" I wonder the ceiling doesn't fall down 

And crush you, oh, you men have no feeling ; 

You selfish, unnatural, illiberal creatures, 

Who set yourselves up for patterns and preachers. 

I have told you and shown you I've nothing to wear, 

And its perfectly plain, you not only don't care 

But you do not believe me, — here the nose went still 

higher. 
I suppose if you dared, sir, you'd call me a liar. 
Our engagement is ended, sir, yes, on the spot, 
You're a brute and a monster, and — I don't know 

what." 
I mildly suggested the words, Hottentot, 
Pickpocket and cannibal — Tartar and thief, 
As gentle expletives that might bring relief. 

But this only proved as spark to the powder, 
And the storm I had raised came faster and louder. 
It blew and it rained, thundered, lightened and hailed 
Interjections, verbs, pronouns, till language quite 
failed 

4 



50 HEADINGS, RECITATIONS, 

To express the abusive, and then its arrears, 
Were brought up all at once by a torrent of tears. 
Well, I felt for the lady, and I felt for my hat, 
And without going through the form of a bow, 
Found myself in the entry I scarcely know how, 
On doorstep and sidewalk, past lamp-post and square, 
At home and upstairs in my own easy-chair, 
Poked my feet into slippers, my fire into blaze, 
And said to myself as I lit my cigar, 
" Supposing a man had the wealth of a czar 
Of the Russias to boot, could he ever be happy 
Or have much to spare, 
If he married a woman with nothing to wear ? " 

Oh, ladies, dear ladies, the next sunny day, 
Just trundle your hoops out of Broadway, 
From its whirl and its bustle, its fashion and pride, 
Its temples of trade towering high on each side, 
To the alleys and lanes where misfortune and guilt, 
Their children have gathered, their hovels have built ; 
Where hunger and vice like twin beasts of prey, 
Have hunted their victims to gloom and despair. 
Raise the rich dainty dress and the fine, broidered skirt 
Pick your delicate way through dampness and dirt, 
Grope through the dark dens, climb the rickety stair 
To the garret, where wretches, the young and the old, 
Half-starved and half -naked lie crouched from the cold. 
See those poor pinched limbs, those frost-bitten feet, 
All bleeding and bruised from the stones of the street. 
Hear the sharp cry of childhood — the deep groans 

that swell 
From the poor dying creatures that writhe on the 

floor, 
Hear the curses that sound like the echoes of hell, 
As you sicken and shudder and fly from the door. 
Then home to your wardrobes, and say, if you dare, 
Spoiled children of fashion, you've nothing to wear. 

And oh, if perchance there should be a sphere, 
Where all is made right that so puzzles us here, 



AND IMPERSONATIONS. 51 

Where the glare and the glitter and tinsel of time 
Fade and die in the light of that region sublime. 
Where the soul, disenchanted of flesh and of sense, 
Unscreened by its trappings and shows and pretense, 
Must be clothed for the life and the service above 
With purity, truth, faith, meekness, and love, 
Oh, daughters of earth, foolish virgins, beware 
Lest in that upper realm, you've nothing to wear. 

Butler. 



THE LITTLE SCHEHEREZADE. 

I wantsh to tell you some stories ! 
Pull one of your ears down — so ! 
Don't smoke in befront of my face, pa, 
I'll sit on this clicket — down low. 

There once was a beautiful p'incess — 
I'm too low enough ; you can't hear. 
I'll climb up a-top on your shoulder, 
And whisper it into your ear. 

This p'incess kept sleeping and sleeping 
Till somebody gave her a kiss 
That woke her ; for she was enchanted ! 
She'd waited whole years just for this. 

Let me see ! — Oh — This beautiful p'incess- 
She wasn't but 'bout big as me, — 
This ain't the bess' p'ace to tell stories 
Hop me down, and le's sit on your knee. 

Ain't it fun ? And it rides just as easy — 
What's that ? " Better stick to my text ? " 
'Tain't sermons ! — it's stories ! and papa, 
I — kind of — can't think — what comes next I 



52 HEADINGS, EECITATIONS, 

" Don't believe I had any stories ? " 
I had — suts a nice one ! but now 
I shall just let you tell your own stories ! 
Shan't tell you a single spec how 

The p'incess grew up to a woman, — ■ 
I thought you'd be solly ! don't cly ! 
Next time you'll be patient and listen — 
My dollies are calling — Good-bye ! 



THE DAY OF PEACE. 

Though at last our tears are banished, 
And our garners are replenished, 
Sixteen years have come and vanished 
Since the nation's long roll beat ; 
When from farm and town and village, 
Leaving business, art and tillage, 
Forth to scenes of strife and pillage 
Trod our armies' fateful feet. 

Four long years of fiercest fighting, 
Only demons' eyes delighting, 
And a bloody record writing, 
Left us starved and sick and sore. 
Four long years of wild disorder, 
Spreading death from coast to border, 
Brought at last the welcome order, 
" Peace ! Stack arms ! we war no more ! " 

Other years of dark suspicion, 
While sweet Peace beheld her mission 
Failing of its fair fruition, 
And the land was cold and dead; 
Years of jarring claims and races, 
Hardened hearts and darkened faces, 
Vacant hearths and desolate places, 
Homes from which all hope had fled. 



AND IMPERSONATIONS. 53 

Long the clouds so grim and leaden 
All the face of nature deaden, 
Till the dawn begins to redden 
Signaling the day to all, 
Then a breeze of better feeling 
Freer trust and honest dealing, 
Sweeps across the sky, revealing 
Spaces through the gloomy pall. 

From the depths so pure and holy 
Come the star-beams, faintly, slowly, 
Joyful gleams to high and lowly — 
Thus our long lost stars return. 
Slowly works the gracious planner, 
Till upon our blessed banner, 
In the old accustomed manner 
All its glories shine and burn. 

Peace, the giver of great blessing. 
Now, our length and breadth possessing, 
Full of comfort and caressing 
Smiles from out the sky at last. 
States united and co-equal 
In their olden accents speak well 
Of a bright and happy sequel 
To the story of the past. 

Past at length the nation's quarrel, 
War has taught its wholesome moral, 
Foemen meet to twine the laurel 
For the heroes whom they fought. 
Past the strife of race and color, 
Lines of passion, growing duller, 
Fade before the freer, fuller, 
Better ways that God has wrought. 

Sad was war, but sweet our peace is ; 

Blest is sorrow when it ceases ; 

With our hope our strength increases, 



54 HEADINGS, RECITATIONS, 

And anew our race we run, 
Sections tending to each other, 
Just as brother grows to brother, 
When the passions sink and smother, 
And the day of strife is done. 

Northland, Southland, Eastland, Westland, 
None the worst, and none the best land, 
All together form the best land, 
Fused in war's fierce furnace heat. 
Never more shall fate divide us, 
Ne'er again the furies ride us, 
Nor can any ill betide us, 
While the Union's heart shall beat. 

Oh, if peace could but restore us, 
To this banner floating o'er us, 
Brothers who have gone before us, 
Whom to-day we meet to mourn! 
But they see with clearer vision, 
In their far-off homes elysian, 
And partake of our fruition, 
To a new existence born. 

Nevermore in strife contending, 
From the heaven above us bending, 
While our praise and prayer ascending 
Tell them they are not forgot. 
Joyfully they now discover 
That the white-robed angels hover 
All their resting places over, 
Hallowing each sacred spot. 

Nevermore the gallant legions, 
Yonder in the starry regions, 
Strive for this or that allegiance. 
All with them is peace and love. 
We, as they, past our defilement, 
Guiltless now of vain revilement, 
Find at last our reconcilement; 
Peace is here, as there above. 



AND IMPERSONATIONS. 55 

Let us, then, tread softly, lightly, 
And with garlands gleaming brightly, 
Make the resting places sightly 
Of our hemes "neath the sod. 
All were ours, and all together, 
Through the battles' bitter weather, 
Loo ed for us their human tether; 
All together went to God. 

Let us fit our new condition, 
So that never false ambition 
Shall prevail against our mission, 
Or disturb our high career ; 
And remember in our weeping, 
Though their bodies still are sleeping, 
That our faithful dead are keeping 
Watch above the living here. 

Ours the hopes of saints and sages, 
Ours to spread on history's pages 
Records that to future ages 
Show a people grand, sublime. 
Ours to tell the sweetest story, 
Ours to teach the truest glory, 
Till the wheeling world grows hoary, 
And we near the end of time. 

Thus our gay and gleaming garlands, 
Fairest fruits of near and far lands 
Tell to those who dwell in star lands, 
What is now and is to be. 
Thus our deeds to-day are showing 
How the breeze of peace is blowing, 
And a future beyond knowing, 
Waits the continent of the free. 

E. T. Willet. 



56 HEADINGS, RECITATIONS, 



UNCROWNED AMONG THE NATIONS. 

She stands uncrowned among the nations ! Her 
sufferings have been unexampled and her patient 
endurance towers up among the facts that are 
pyramids in history. After driving the Danish 
viking into the seas, she has seen the Anglo-Norman 
robber wave his banner o'er the loveliest spots in 
her realm. But through treachery and famine, 
through glory and disgrace, through persecution and 
death, she remains after a thousand years, the un- 
sullied Queen, upon whose bright escutcheon there 
is not a stain save the silver dropping of her own 
tears. 

She stands uncrowned among the nations, a weep- 
ing mother, whose only solace is wandering among 
the tombs of her children. She rests her wearied 
limbs beside the sarcophagus of O'Connell — and 
over Glasnevin cemetery spreads a glorious Irish 
twilight. Above — the sun retiring after his long 
journey disrobes on the horizon's edge, and carelessly 
scatters his garments of crimson, emerald and gold, 
upon the floor of heaven. The lovely queen of 
night glides forth upon the scene, and from her ebony 
sieve shakes whole myriads of stars. Below — the 
tall shafts of monumental granite throw their long 
shadows, like a canopy of black spears, over the little 
mounds at their feet, and the roses, and the lilies, 
and the blue forget-me-nots in their circling guard of 
shamrocks, awake from their vesper sleep, re-open 
their petals, and telephone in odorous voices sweet 
greetings to their shining sisters blossoming in the 
infinite meadows of heaven. " The soul of the Liber- 
ator hovers around the scene, and after paying the 
tribute of a bended knee to the Lady of his Love 
with a divine wand, he touches his skeleton body in 



AND IMPERSONATIONS. 57 

its marble shroud, and forth from the fleshless lips 
come the true words he was so wont to use, 

" Hereditary bondmen, know ye not 
Who would be free themselves must strike the blow." 

She stands uncrowned among the nations ! The 
summer sunlight falls unheeded upon the curls of 
her golden hair, and the winter frost, unnoted, scat- 
ters his clusters of pearls upon her livery of mourn- 
ing. But even amid the hail, the rain, and the storm, 
she finds it ecstasy to sit beside the window of John 
of Tuam and listen to the soft strains of her own 
harp as it responds in melodious voice to the touch 
of the fast withering fingers of the greatest of her 
living sons. And when the songs of her ancient 
bards in her own language as an accompaniment fall 
tremulously from his aged lips, a delirium of mem- 
ories crowd upon her and she vanishes into the night. 

She stands uncrowned among the nations ! Kneel- 
ing on the green sward of Robert Emmet's grave 
and resting her head upon its unmarked headstone, 
she clasps her hands around it and in an agony of 
prayer, cries out, " O, my God, when shall his 
epitaph be written ? " At the early morning she is in 
Clare listening to Charles Stewart Parnell. She sees 
at one end of the platform the Irish flag and at the 
other the American. She is not satisfied — clad in 
her royal robes, albeit of black, she ascends that 
platform and taking in one hand her own banner of 
green, and in the other the "Stars and Stripes," 
under which her exiled children find so secure a 
shelter, with her own deft fingers, she irrevocably 
intertwines them, and upon their dual folds, in letters 
of living light, she inscribes the prophetic device : 
"These together shall conquer." 

She stands uncrowned among the nations ! Doff- 
ing her queenly garments, and in the attire of a felon, 
she sits beside Michael Davitt in his lonely prison 
Cell. Twining her arms about his neck with all a 



58 HEADINGS, BECITATIONS. 

mother's fondness she sings to him the Irish lullabies 
of his babyhood, and in accents mournful but em- 
phatic bids him be patient for God is just. 

She stands uncrowned among the nations ! The 
most beautiful type the world has ever seen, a mother 
of sons who have influenced human thought and 
human action in every class and on every stage. As 
did Abraham of old, she has offered up to God, for 
seven hundred years, a holocaust of her children, 
though He, as yet, has never averted the sacrificial 
knife. She fashioned the brain of Burke, and silver- 
tipped the tongue of Grattan. She gave Wellington 
his sword, Swift his pen, and Moore his lyre. From 
the superabundance of her jewels she presented 
Spain with O'Donnell, Austria with Nugent, France 
with Sarsfield, and America with Meagher. Yet 
'with all her beauty and with all her intellect she 
stands alone and uncrowned among the nations. 

But when she is crowned, and the day is not far 
distant, the tiara that encircles her forehead will be 
all of diamonds ! Crowned with freedom, blessed 
with happiness ! God speed the day ! 

J. D. Finney. 



ADOWN THE FIELD TOGETHER. 

The blackbird pipes his solemn notes 

Through copse and dreamy hollow ; 
The air is fanned by myriad wings 

Of the brown low-flying swallow; 
As hand in hand, at twilight hour, 

In the hazy autumn weather, 
A lass and sun-brown harvester 

Stroll down the field together. 

All day he has bound the yellow sheaves 
With a patient hand and willing, 

For the wealth of his own new home is stored 
In the granary he is filling ; 



AND IMPEUSONATIONS. 

And all the gain or reward he asks, 
Is to know that through the heather 

A lad and lassie at set of sun, 
Shall roam the field together. 

What is it to happy hearts and young, 

That the sere, sad leaves are falling? 
They hear but the cheery voice of love 

To his sweetheart gently calling ; 
And close as he bound the yellow sheaves 

In the gleaming Autumn weather, 
Sly Cupid binds their tender hearts 

With love's gold bands together. 

The field of stubble will soon grow brown 

The frosts will chill the meadows, 
Highland and lowland — garden and lawn 

Will fade in the deep'ning shadows ; 
But, bright as the sun on a thousand hills, 

Will seem the Autumn weather 
When hand in hand to the dear old kirk 

They wend their way together. 

On and on the years shall roll, 

And sweeter grows love's story, 
Till head of brown, and head of gold 

Shall lose youth's crown of glory ; 
While adown the field of golden sheaves, 

In the sombre Autumn weather, 
A tottering man, a feeble dame, 

Shall slowly walk together. 

Ah ! Who will remember the harvest hour, 

Of the youthful maid and lover, 
When life's gray sheaves are bound at last 

And life's brief dream is over? 
When the fields shall o'er-run with weeds, 

And none shall roam the heather, 
While, side by side in the old kirk-yard 

The twain shall rest together. 

Louise JJpham. 



60 READINGS, RECITATIONS, 



"THE WORLD FOR SALE." 

The world for sale ! Hang out the sign, 
Call every traveller here to me : 
Who'll buy this brave estate of mine 
And set me from earth's bondage free ? 
'Tis going ! Yes, I mean to fling 
This bauble from my soul away ; 
I'll sell it, whatsoe'er it bring: 
The world at auction here to-day ! 

It is a glorious thing to see ; 

Ah, it has cheated me sore ! 

It is not what it seems to be. 

For sale ! It shall be mine no more. 

Come, turn it o'er and view it well; 

I would not have you purchase dear : 

'Tis going ! go — ing ! I must sell ! 

Who bids ? — Who'll buy the splendid tear? 

Here's wealth in glittering heaps of gold : 
Who bids ? — But, let me tell you fair, 
A baser lot was never sold : — 
Who'll buy the heavy heaps of care ? 
And here, spread out in broad domain, 
A goodly landscape all may trace ; 
Hall, cottage, tree, field, hill and plain — 
Who'll buy himself a burial place? 

Here's Love, the dreamy, potent spell 
That beauty flings around the heart : 
I know its power, alas ! too well : 
'Tis going ! Love and I must parti 
Must part ! — What can I more with Love ? 
All over the enchanter's reign ; 
Who'll buy the plumeless, dying dove, 
An hour of bliss, an age of pain ? 



AND IMPERSONATIONS. 61 

And friendship, rarest gem of earth, 
(Whoe'er hath found the jewel his?) 
Frail, fickle, false and little worth : 
Who bids for friendship — as it is ? 
"Pis going ! go — ing ! Hear the call : 
Once, twice and thrice ? — "lis very low ! 
'Twas once my hope, my stay, my all; 
But now the broken shaft must go ! 

Fame ! Hold the brilliant meteor high. 
How dazzling every gilded name ! 
Ye millions, now's the time to buy! 
How much for fame ? How much for fame? 
Hear how it thunders ! Would you stand 
On high Oi} r mpus, far renowned? 
Now purchase, and a world command! 
And be with a world's curses crowned. 

Sweet star of hope ! with ray to shine 
In every sad, foreboding breast 
Save this desponding one of mine: 
Who bids for man's last friend and best? 
Ah, were not mine a bankrupt life, 
This treasure should my soul sustain : 
But Hope and I are now at strife, 
Nor ever may unite again. 

And song ! for sale my tuneless lute, 
Sweet solace, mine no more to hold ; 
The chords that charmed my soul are mute ; 
I cannot wake the notes of old ! 
Or e'en were mine a wizard shell, 
Could chain a world in raptures high, 
Yet now, a sad farewell ! farewell ! 
Must on its last faint echoes die. 

Ambition, fashion, show and pride, 
I part from all forever now ; 
Grief, in an overwhelming tide, 
Has taught my haughty heart to bow 



62 HEADINGS, RECITATIONS, 

Poor heart ! distracted, ah, so long, 
And still its aching throb to bear ; 
Now broken, that was once so strong ! 
Now heavy, once so free from care ! 

No more for me life's fitful dream: 
Bright visions, vanishing away ! 
My bark requires a deeper stream, 
My sinking soul a surer stay. 
By Death — stern sheriff — all bereft, 
I weep, yet humbly kiss the rod, 
The best of all I still have left, 
My Faith, my Bible, and my God. 



Ralph Hoyt. 



THIRTEEN AND DOLLY. 

Oh, Dolly, dear Dolly, I'm thirteen to-day, 
And surely 'tis time to be stopping my play ! 
My treasures so childish must be put aside; 
I think, Henrietta, I'll play that you died ; 
I'm growing so old, that of course it won't do 
To care for a dolly, — not even for you. 

Almost a young lady, I'll soon wear a train, 
And do up my hair; but I'll never be vain; 
I'll study and study and grow very wise. — 
Come, Dolly, sit up now, and open 3 T our eyes : 
I'll tie on this cap with its ruffles of lace, 
It always looks sweet round your beautiful face. 

I'll bring out your dresses, so pretty and gay, 
And fold them all smoothly and put them away : 
This white one is lovely, with sash and pink bows- 
Ah, I was so happy while making your clothes ! 
And here is your apron, with pockets so small, 
This dear little apron, 'tis nicest of all. 



AND IMPERSONATIONS. 63 

And now for your trunk, I will lay them all in— 
Oh Dolly, dear Dolly, how can I begin ! 
How oft of our journeys I'll think with a sigh, 
We've traveled together so much, you and I ! 
All over the fields and the garden we went, 
And played we were gypsies and lived in a tent. 

We tried keeping house in so many queer ways, 
Out under the trees in the warm summer days ! 
We moved to the arbor and played that the flowers 
Were housekeepers too, and were neighbors of ours. 
We lived in the hay-loft and slid down the ricks, 
And went out to call on the turkeys and chicks. 

Now here is your cradle with lining of blue, 

And soft little pillow — I know what I'll do 

I'll rock you and sing my last lullaby song, 

And I'll — No, I can't give you up ! 'Twill be wrong ! 

So sad is my heart, and here comes a big tear — 

Come back to my arms, oh, you precious old dear. 

JSt. Nicholas Magazine. 



EDINBURGH AFTER FLODDEN. 

News of battle ! News of battle ! 

Hark ! 'tis ringing down the street ; 
And the archways and the pavement 
Bear the clang of hurrying feet. 
News of battle ! Who hath brought it? 

News of triumph? Who should bring 
Tidings from our noble army, 

Greetings from our gallant King? 
All last night we watched the beacons 

Blazing on the hills afar, 
Each one bearing as it kindled, 

Message of the opened war. 



64 HEADINGS, RECITATIONS, 

News of battle ! Who hath brought it? 

All are thronging to the gate; 
" Warder — warder ! open quickly ; 

Man — is this a time to wait? " 
And the heavy gates are opened: 

Then a murmur, long and loud, 
And a cry of fear and wonder 

Bursts from out the bending crowd. 
For they see in battered harness 

Only one hard-stricken man ; 
And his weary steed is wounded, 

And his cheek is pale and wan ; 
Spearless hangs a bloody banner 

In his weak and drooping hand — 
God ! Can that be Randolph Murray, 

Captain of the city band ? 

'Round him crush the people, crying, 

" Tell us all ; oh, tell us true ! 
Where are they who went to battle, 

Randolph Murray, sworn to you? 
Where are they, our brothers — children ? 

Have they met the English foe? 
Why art thou, alone, unfollowed ? 

Is it weal or is it woe ? 
By the God that made thee, Randolph ! 

Tell us what mischance hath come." 

Then he lifts his riven banner, 

And the asker's voice is dumb. 
While up rose the Provost — 

A brave old man was he, 
Of ancient name and knightly fame, 

And chivalrous degree. 
For, with a father's pride, 

He saw his last remaining son 
Go forth by Randolph's side, 
With casque on head and spur on heel, 

All keen to do and dare ; 
And proudly did that gallant boy 

Punedin's banner bear. 



ANT) IMPERSONATIONS. 65 

Oh! woeful now was the old mail's look, 

And lie spake right heavily — 
" Now, Randolph, tell thy tidings, 

However sharp they be ! 
Woe is written on thy visage, 

Death is looking from tlry face, 
Speak ! though it be of overthrow, 

It cannot be disgrace ! " 

Randolph gave the riven banner 

To the Provost's shaking hand, 
Saying, " That is all I bring ye 

From the bravest of the land. 
Ay ! ye may look upon it — 

It was guarded well and long, 
By your brothers and your children, 

By the valiant and the strong. 
One by one they fell around it, 

As the archers laid them low, 
Grimly dying, still unconquered, 

With their faces to the foe. 
Ay ! ye may look upon it, — 

There is more than honor there, 
Else, be sure, I had not brought it 

From the field of dark despair. 
Never yet was royal banner 

Steeped in such a costly dye; 
It hath lain upon a bosom 

Where no other shroud shall lie. 
Sii'S ! I charge you, keep it holy ; 

Keep it as a sacred thing, 
For the stain ye see upon it 

Was the life-blood of your King!" 

Woe, and woe, and lamentation ! 

What a piteous cry was there ! 
Widows, maidens, mothers, children, 

Shrieking, sobbing in despair! 
Then the Provost uprose, 
5 



66 READINGS, -RECITATIONS, 

And his lip was ashen white; 
But a flush was on his brow 

And his eye was full of light. 
" Thou hast spoken, Randolph Murray, 

Like a soldier stout and true ; 
Thou hast done a deed of daring 

Had been perilled but by few, 
For thou hast not shamed to face us, 

Nor to speak thy ghastly tale. 
Now, as my God shall judge me, 

I hold it braver done, 
Than hadst thou tarried in thy place, 

And died above my son ! 
Thou need'st not tell it ; he is dead. 

God help us all this day ! 
But speak — how fought the citizens 

Within the furious fray ? 
For by the might of Mary ! 

'Twere something still to tell 
That no Scottish foot went backward 

When the Royal Lion fell ! " 



"No one failed him ! He is keeping 

Royal state and semblance still ; 
Knight and noble lie around him, 

Cold on Flodden's fatal hill. 
Of the brave and gallant-hearted, 

Whom you sent with prayers away, 
Not a single man departed 

From his monarch yesterday, 
Had you seen them, O my Masters, 

When the night began to fall, 
Every stone a Scottish body, 

Every step a corpse in mail ! 
And behind it lay our monarch, 

Clenching still his shivered sword; 
By his side Montrose and Athole, 

At his feet a Southern lord. 
All so thick they lay together, 



AND lMl'KUsn.\.\TIONS. 67 

When the stars lit up the sky, 
That I knew not who were stricken, 

Or who yet remained to die. 
Few there were when Surrey halted, 

And his wearied host withdrew ; 
None but dying men around him 

When the English trumpet blew. 
Then I stooped, and took the banner 

As you see it, from his breast, 
And I closed our hero's eyelids, 

And I left him to his rest. 
In the mountains growled the thunder, 

As I leaped the woful wall, 
And the heavy clouds were settling 

Over Flodden, like a pall." 

W. E. Aytoun. 



THE CASE OF MRS. MOLL. 

Mrs. Rebecca Moll was one of those unfortunate 
women who are always " ailin'." She was never free 
from a " misery " of some kind, and never knew 
what it was to see " a well day." Her conversation 
chiefly referred to the diseases she was suffering 
from, those she had had, and those she expected to 
have. She loved to dwell upon the many times that 
" four doctors had given her up," and when it was 
confidently supposed that " eveiw breath would be 
her last." Her friends were, indeed, somewhat scep- 
tical in regard to the genuineness of Mrs. Rebecca 
Moll's maladies. They doubted her oft-repeated 
statement that she had had the small-pox, the genuine 
Asiatic cholera, and the yellow fever; for it was 
proved that on the day following that on which all 
these diseases were at their height, Mrs. Moll had 
walked three miles to a quilting; but when reminded 
of this fact she said, calmly, " Some folks git over 
sickness quicker'n others, and I'm one of that kind." 



68 BEADING S, RECITATIONS, 

There was one person who had firm faith in the gen- 
uineness of all Mrs. Moll's maladies, and that person 
was her patient and affectionate husband, Mr. Pliny- 
Moll. " What my Becky has endoored no one but 
me and her knows," he often said, earnestly. " Many 
an' a-many's the time I've set by her sick bedside an' 
said to myself, ' Is she a-breathin' or ain't she a-breath- 
in' ? an' I've riz to my feet thinkin' I was a widow man 
this time — yes, sir. An' ag'in when she's been sittin' 
right in her chair I've looked at her an' said, ' You 
dead, Becky Moll?' an' when she'd say, so feeble 
like, ' I ain't quite, Pliny,' I've said to myself, ' Well, 
it won't be long 'fore you will be, Becky Moll, if you 
ain't better right forthwith an' faster! ' " 

As they kept no servant, great domestic confusion 
resulted when, as was frequently the case, Mrs. Moll 
had to be almost carried to bed from the breakfast 
table, leaving Mr. Moll to wash the dishes and attend 
to other domestic duties. But Mr. Moll made no 
complaint. "Poor Becky! Poor Becky ! it's a sight 
harder on her than it is on me." 

" I shall never get up again, Pliny, I'm done fer," 
she said to her husband, one day. " I don't seem to 
have the first mite of stren'th, an' I've a kind of a 
feelin' of goneness all the time. There's somethin' 
the matter of my back an' chist, an' it ain't long I'll 
be a burden to you." 

Old Doctor Philbrick was called. He seemed un- 
able to understand the case of Mrs. Moll, but told 
her anxious husband that he'd " have her around in 
a few days." " No, you won't," said Mrs. Moll, res- 
olutely. "Pliny might as well be made to under- 
stand the truth, doctor, an' it can't be kept from me ! " 
Doctor Philbrick did not have Mrs. Moll around as 
he predicted. He came again and again, and seemed 
at last to be greatly puzzled over the case. 

"Seems as though she'd ought to git some stren'th," 
said Pliny to the doctor. "Her appetite ain't failed 
her yet ; she eats more'n I do — " " Plin Moll, that 
ain't so ! " cried his wife, indignantly. " Doctor, it 



AND IMPERSONATIONS. 69 

gives me pain to swallow anything at all, and I don't 
eat enough to keep a bird alive." 

An elderly relative of Mr. Moll's called " Aunt 
'Cindy " had by this time been installed as housekeeper 
and nurse to Mrs. Moll, who steadily grew worse, 
and now gave daily instructions as to how her funeral 
should be conducted, and what Pliny should do when 
Blie was gone. " You shan't go 'long as anything 
kin be done fer you that ain't been done. An' there's 
got to be a consultation over you, Becky." 

" It won't do any good. All the doctors in creation 
couldn't tell what's the matter of me. It's one of 
them cases the medical perfession ain't got up to yet, 
and there ain't no cure for it." Nevertheless, Mr. 
Moll determined to have a consultation. " I've done 
all I can do, Mr. Moll," said Doctor Philbrick, " I've 
bled her and blistered her and poulticed her, and 
given her a great deal and a great variety of medi- 
cine, and yet she is no better. I really think there 
should be a consultation." 

So Doctor Peevy and Doctor Hobbson were called 
in. " You've bled her, I reckon ? " said Doctor 
Peevy. "Yes, half dozen times." "And blistered 
her ? " asked Doctor Hobbson. " Yes, yes ; time and 
again." Mrs. Moil seemed to enjoy the prospect of a 
consultation. " I know that forty dozen consultations 
wouldn't cure me. I've had so many diseases my 
system is all wore out and I ain't a mite o' stren'th 
left. I've endoored all one pore human frame kin 
endoor, and I'm convinced that I've got an' incura- 
ble complaint now. My grandmother's aunt lay in 
bed two years, just as I'm doin', 'fore she died, and 
Pliny had a second cousin go off jist as I'm goin', 
and nobody knowed what ailded him. It runs in 
the fam'ly and there's no use fightin' ag'in it. If I 
live through the consultation it's 'bout all I expect 
to do." 

" Please put out your tongue, ma'am," said Doc- 
tor Peevy, while Doctor Hobbson felt her pulse. 
Then Mrs. Moll was put through such a long cate- 



70 HEADINGS, RECITATIONS, 

chism of questions, and subjected to such a thump- 
ing of the chest and pounding of the back that her 
" feeble stren'th " was subjected to a severe strain. 
The examination of the patient lasted for a full hour, 
and then the trio of physicians withdrew to the 
orchard a short distance from the house, to consult 
together. 

No sooner were the doctors out of the house than 
Mrs. Moll called Aunt 'Cindy. " Where's Pliny?" 
"I see him goin' out toward the medder lot when 
the doctors come," replied Aunt 'Cindy. " He 
seemed to be too worrited and uneasy to stay in the 
house while this here powwow was goin' on." " Pore 
man ! " said Mrs. Moll. " It'll be hard on him to 
give me up, but he's got it to do. My stren'th is 
goin' faster every day. I wish you'd tell Pliny I 
want him, and then I'd like you to make me some 
b'iled apple dumplin's and b'ile me a piece of cabbage. 
I'm fagged out I've got to have somethin' for dinner." 

There stood in the meadow lot a solitary oak tree, 
to the shade of which Pliny always withdrew when 
he was in the mood for solitary reflection. "I'm 
afeered they'll do her no good," he said, with his 
handkerchief to his eyes as he lay under the branches 
of the tree. " Nothing but a maracle will help 
Becky, now, and the age of maracles is gone. Poor 
Becky ! " and little Mr. Moll was weeping softly in his 
red cotton handkerchief when Aunt 'Cindy found 
him. 

" Well, Plin Moll, you ain't bellerin' ? What for ? 
If there's anything to cry fer I ain't seen it nor yit 
heerd it ! " " O, 'Cindy ! What do they say 'bout 
Becky? Has she lived through it?" " Well, she's 
alive enough to want cabbage and dumplin's for din- 
ner, so I reckon there's a little m'tiality left. The 
doctors are powwowin' out in the orchard, and Becky 
wants you. You'd better come right in, and if I was 
you, Plin Moll, I'd — for the land's sake ! the house is 
on fire, as sure as I'm a livin' woman ! " 

Mr. Moll rose to his feet with a bound, and ran 



AND IMPERSONATIONS. 71 

madly after the fleeing Aunt 'Cindy. They met the 
doctors at the back gate, and all ran into the house, 
Mr. Moll crying out: "She'll be scared and burned 
to death ! Git Becky out first thing ! We're comin', 
Becky ! Keep ca'm — we'll save you ! " The whole 
party rushed into the front hall of the house, and 
there they beheld a singular and unexpected sight. 
It was Mrs. Moll half-way downstairs with a huge 
feather-bed on her back ! " Becky Moll ! Why, 
Becky, you'll " 

" Now don't you lose your wits at this time when 
you need 'em the most, Pliny," said Mrs. Moll, sharply. 
" I'll manage this feather-bed, and you go up and 
begin throwin' things out of the winders. Don't you 
forgit my black silk dress. You doctors better pull 
up the carpets, and 'Cindy, you git my gold band 
chany tea-set out all right. I'll come back and 'tend 
to my silver spoons and forks soon as I get this new 
feather-bed out. Fly around, all of you ! There 
ain't no time to lose ! Get my winter cloak, Pliny, 
it's bran'-new, and it's got to do me five j'ears yit! 
Here, Doctor Philbrick, you and Doctor Peevy carry 
out the parlor sofy ! 'Cindy, 'Cindy, fly around! 
Get ev'rything out of the pantry ! " Mrs. Moll had 
been the last to leave the burning building. She 
came rushing out with — a big blue-edged platter in 
one hand, a pewter teapot in the other. Carrying 
them to a place of safety, she climbed over the fence 
and dropped down on the feather-bed, saying, as she 
did so : •' Pliny, bring me a quilt or something to 
throw over me ! I look scand'lous ! I'm-afeerd this'll 
give me an awful back-set! Well, Doctor Philbrick, 
what do you make out is the matter of me ? " 

" There ain't nothing the matter of you, Becky 
Moll ; that's what there ain't ! Ain't that so, Doctor 
Peevy? " " Yes, it is, Hobbson thinks so, too, don't 
you, Hobbson ? " " Of course I do ! " replied Doctor 
Hobbson. This was far from the conclusion sit which 
the learned doctors had arrived while in the orchard ; 
but the opinions of the most learned men are subject 



72 READINGS, RECITATIONS, 

to change. "I should think you'd be ashamed to 
talk to a dyin' woman like that ! " 

The household goods were carried into a small but 
quite comfortable old house across the road. The 
neighbors lent their assistance in arranging the furni- 
ture, and by night Mr. and Mrs. Moll found them- 
selves comfortably installed in their old home, with 
most of their effects around them. Then Aunt 'Cindy 
and Mr. Moll held a consultation. " See here, Pliny ; 
I'm goin' home. I ain't goin' to stay here any longer 
doing for a woman that's as well as 1 am, if she'd only 
think so. I'm a believer in the mind cure for Becky ; 
for if she only thought she was well she'd be well." 

In fifteen minutes she was gone. Mr. Moll rose, 
and went into the house and into the bedroom in 
which Mrs. Moll was lying. 

"Becky, Aunt 'Cindy's gone, and I reckon if you 
want any supper to-night you'll have to git up and 
gil it. I'm goin' out to milk the cows now, and I 
wish you'd have some flannel cakes for supper when 
I come in." When she heard Pliny speak now, she 
knew that he meant all he said. She herself was very 
hungry after her exertion at the fire, and Pliny found 
her frying eggs and cakes, and making ail appetizing 
cup of coffee when he came in with his pail of foamy 
milk. 

That was the last of her " incurable malady," and 
the last of many of her other diseases. She died of 
old age twenty -five years later. Harbour, in Youths' 
Companion. 



THE DOLLS' TEA PARTY. 

The dolls had a tea party ; wasn't it fun? 
In ribbons and lace they came, one by one. 
We girls set the table and poured out the tea; 
And each of us held up a doll on her knee. 



AND IMPERSONATIONS. 73 

You never saw children behave half so well; 
Why, nobody had any gossip to tell ! 
And (can you believe it?) for badness, that day, 
No dolly was sent from the table away. 

One dolly, however, the proudest one there, 
Was driven almost to the verge of despair, 
Because she had met with a simple mishap 
And upset the butter-plate into her lap. 
The cups and the saucers, they shone lily-white; 
We helped all the dollies, they looked so polite, 
We had cake and jam from our own pantry shelves ; 
Of course, we did most of the eating ourselves. 

But housewives don't know when their cares may 

begin. 
The window was opened and pussy popped in; 
She jumped on the table ; and what do you think ? 
Down fell all the crockery there in a wink. 
We picked up the pieces with many a sigh ; 
Our party broke up and we all said good-bye ; 
Do come to our next one ; but then we'll invite 
That very bad pussy to keep out of sight. 



THE VICTORY OF THE FROSTS. 

One sweet September morn — so sweet a morn 
As one might well believe was born in heaven, 
I looked out from my window height, and saw 
The silent, white encampment of the frosts, 
Specking the green hill-side with many tints. 
"There's war in that," I said ; " such bold array 
Means death to all fair, fragile, helpless things." 

And so I shut my window with a sigh, 

And thought of the dead summer's holy realm 

That she had left as autumn's legacy; 



74 READINGS, RECITATIONS, 

And wondered if, amid bis groaning vats, 
Gorged with the vineyard's and the orchard's wealth, 
He would be mindful of the sweet, frail things 
That had been left his charge by the dead Queen. 

I looked again, when in the clear, blue sky, 
The brave strong sun rode in high state at noon, 
And lo ! of all that vast array, no tint 
Lingered to mark the first alarm of war. 
1 said, " The frost king feared to meet the sun, 
And so, at his approach, has fled away." 

Next morn I looked again, and lo ! again 

The white tints glistened thickly, as before, 

But when the sun approached, they all were gone. 

So was it many morns ; but, ah ! one day 

I looked out, and my heart sighed heavily, 

For over all the landscape crimson stains 

Told of the conflict and the victory ; 

And then I knew that in the silent night 

The stealthy, cruel frosts had done their work. 

Oh ! it was pitiful and sad to see 

The green crown of the ancient, kingly oak 

All dabbled with the crimson stains of war, 

While all around his feet lay, dead and pale, 

The sweet things that he might not e'en protect, 

Since he could not protect himself! I heard 

Him sigh and whisper, oh ! so mournfully, 

To the fair maple growing at his side, 

Dabbled, like him, with blood, save that her stains 

Were brighter, because womanly hearts do give 

Their richest life-tide, if it be required. 

And she, the maple, lifted up her hands, 

And touched his forehead with a soft caress. 

That seemed at once to soothe and strengthen him, 

And so his sigh grew gentle and more low. 

So I went out and kissed the crimson stains 
Upon the meek, fair maple, and I pressed 



AND IMPERSONATIONS. 

Her bleeding hands against my weary brow, 
And said, l% Baptize me with thy ebbing life, 
That when the frosts of time slay all my bloom 
I may be beautiful as thou art now," 
Then she spread out her hands above my head, 
And murmured softly, like a mother praying, 
And sprinkled crimson on my bended head, 
And tore a fragment from her blood-dyed robe, 
And gave it me, a dear remembrancer 
Of how a queen can, uncomplaining, die. 

Avanelle Holomes. 



LOST IN THE SEA FOG. 

The night was dark upon the sea, and chill 

The fog hung o'er the weary mariner, 

As off New England's rocky shore 

His frail barque tossed on the Atlantic wave. 

No moon nor star looked down 

To guide him o'er the trackless deep. 

All, all was gloom ! 

The deep, dense fog hung o'er him 

Like a midnight pall over a silent world 

Or a sable shroud o'er the newly dead. 

No sound, save the moaning of the distant thunder, 

The wild shriek of the ocean bird 

Or the restless wave, dashing against the lonely 

barque. 
The thought of home ; of loved ones waiting there, 
Had nerved the father's arm. 

His wife, his boy, his humble cottage 
On the distant shore, were dear to him, 
The thought renewed his strength 
And desperately he plied the oar, 
While despair and hope alternate rose, 
For the Father's love burned pure as " the star of 
eve." 



76 READINGS, RECITATIONS, 

And constant as the cynosure. 
At last when exhausted, chilled, 
The lost and stricken one, 
Tossed on the midnight wave, 
Fell upon his knees 
And lifted up his voice in prayer. 

" Oh God ! thou who hearest the mourner's sigh, 

Thou, who reign'st supreme o'er all the world, 

Hear ; oh, hear, my humble prayer,, 

Father thou knowest what I would ask of thee, 

If I must perish here, be thou their prop and stay, 

And let me calmly die. 

Yet, oh Father, if it please thee 

I would live, gladly live, for them; 

But Thy will, not mine." 

" This way, my father ! " 

" Hush ! hark ! What voice was that ? 

It is — no it cannot be — but that voice — " 

" This way, my father ! " 

" It is ! it is my boy ! 

I hear him, high on that rocky cliff. 

I come ! I come ! Thy father comes. 

God bless my boy." 

Guided by that voice 

The father reached the shore 

And found his noble boy 

Chilled, prostrate on that rocky cliff. 

Where, through tho long, long weary night 

He lay, sending out his clear sweet voice 

O'er the darkened wave 

To guide the wanderer home. 

Enfolded in his father's arms, 

The dying boy looked up, 

And smiling through his tears, murmured low, 

" Father, I thought that you would come." 



AND IMPERSONATIONS. r t 

Gently the father bore to his cottage home 

His little boy. Softly the shades of death 

Settled upon that pallid brow, 

Parents kneeled beside that lowly couch, 

A father's tear was on his cheek, 

And unseen angels hovering near 

On snowy wings, bore away a mother's prayer 

And a bright young spirit home to heaven. 

And now when long, long years have passed 
At the silent midnight hour, 
An old man, with thin white locks 
Is seen standing on that rocky cliff, 
And he seems to hear an angel's voice 
Calling from the pearly gates ajar. 
" Come this way, my father, 

Steer straight for me, 

Here safely in heaven, 

I'm waiting for thee." 



THE CHARIOT RACE. 

The circus at Antioch stood on the south bank 
of the river. At the beginning of the third hour, 
the audience was assembled. 

Looking westward across the sanded arena, there 
is a pedestal of marble, supporting three low conical 
pillars of gray stone. Many an eye will be turned 
toward those pillars, before the day is done, for they 
are the first goal, and mark the beginning and end 
of the race course. Behind the pedestal, leaving a 
passage-way, commences a wall ten or twelve feet in 
breadth and five or six feet in height, extending 
thence two hundred yards. At the further extremity 
of the wall, there is another pedestal surmounted with 
pillars which mark the second goal. The racers will 
enter the course on the right of the first goal, and 
keep the wall all the time to their left. 



78 READINGS, KECTTATIONS, 

At last a flourish of trumpets called for silence, 
and instantly the gaze of over one hundred thousand 
persons was directed towards the entrance. Slowly 
across the arena the procession proceeds to make 
circuit of the course. The first greeting of the 
enthusiastic multitude was one of wild uproar, fol- 
lowed by showers of wreaths and garlands tossed to 
the charioteers, from the balcony. A horseman 
accompanies each one of them except Ben-Hur, who 
for some reason — possibly distrust — has chosen to go 
alone ; so too they are all helmeted but him. Here 
they come all abreast — Ben-Hur the Jew, Messala 
the Roman. Also the Byzantine, Sidonian and 
Corinthian. As the charioteers move on in the cir- 
cuit the excitement increases, at the second goal the 
people exhaust their flowers and rive the air with 
screams. • 

" Messala ! Messala ! " 

" Ben-Hur ! Ben-Hur ! " 

" Ah, by Bacchus! was he not handsome?" ex- 
claimed a woman whose Romanism is betrayed by 
the colors of scarlet and gold streaming from her hair. 
"And how splendid his chariot! It is all ivory and 
gold. Jupiter grant he wins ! " 

"A hundred shekels on the Jew," screamed a 
shrill voice. 

" Nay, be thou not rash ! The children of Jacob 
will bear poor chance in the Gentile sports." 

a True, but saw you ever one more cool, and as- 
sured ? And what an arm he has ! " 

" And what horses ! " says a third. 

" Yes, and he is even handsomer than the Roman ! " 
exclaimed a pretty woman just behind the first 
speakers. 

" A hundred shekels on the Jew ! " 

" Thou fool ! knowest thou not there are fifty 
talents laid against him, six to one on Messala? Put 
up thy shekels lest Abraham rise and smite thee ' " 

" Ha ! Ha ! Cease thy bray. Knowest thou not 
it was Messala betting on himself ! " 



AND IMPER&ONA T10NS. 79 

Just then the spectator leaning fur over the balcony 
and gazing into the pale rigid countenance of Ben-Hur, 
knew that his mind was turned back upon the wrongs 
and injuries of the past, and could see by the unusual 
flush that now and then burned on his cheek, that he 
felt within himself that his hour of triumph was near, 
when he should humble the haughty Messala, who 
years before had thrown his mother and sister into 
prison and condemned him to work as a galley slave ! 

Just then, a new party — Simonides, Ilderim, Bal- 
thazar, Esther and Iras, entered and took their reserved 
seats close by the balustrade overlooking the Arena. 
Esther cast a frightened look over the Circus and drew 
the veil closer about her face, while the Egyptian, let- 
ting her veil fall upon her shoulders, gave herself up 
to the intense interest of the occasion. 

" Did you ever sec Messala ? " asked Iras. 

The Jewess shuddered as she answered no. If not 
her father's enemy, the Roman was Ben-Hur's. 

" There, look ! " cried Iras pointing to Messala. " I 
see him ! " answered Esther, looking at Ben-Hur. 

Just then they were diverted by the tremulous 
voice of old Ilderim a little behind them. 

" Heaven help thee, Ben-Hur ! To none other than 
thy strong arm and steady nerve would I have trusted 
my beautiful Arabs. If they are beaten, I pray it be by 
some other than Messala." 

The competitors were now under view from nearly 
every part of the Circus. The arena swam in a dazzle 
of light. Up the vast assemblage arose, and leaping 
upon the benches, filled the Circus with yells and 
screams. 

Just then Messala shook out his long lash, loosed 
the reins, leaned forward, and with a triumphant 
shout took the wall. 

" Jove with us ! Jove with us ! " yelled all the 
Roman faction in a frenzy of delight. 

" He wins ! He wins ! " answered his associates, 
seeing Messala speed on. 

On swept the Corinthian, on the Byzantine, on the 
Sidonian. 



80 HEADINGS, RECITATIONS, 

Esther covered her face with her hands. Where was 
Ben-Hur? 

" A hundred sestertii on the Jew ! " cried San- 
ballat. 

" Taken ! " answered Drusus. 

" Another hundred on the Jew." 

" Messala ! Jove with us ! " 

" Another hundred on the Jew ! " 

Esther dropped her hands, and with unconcealed 
delight beheld Ben-Hur again to the front, coursing 
freely forward along with the Roman. The race was 
on ; the souls of the racers were in it. And now side 
by side the two n eared the second goal. 

" Down Eros, up Mars ! " shouted Messala, whirl- 
ing his lash with practiced hand. " Down Eros, up 
Mars," he repeated and caught the beautiful Arabs of 
Ben-Hur, a cut the like of which they had never 
known. The blow Avas seen by the excited multitude, 
and from every quarter burst the indignant cry of 
the people. The four sprang forward affrighted, no 
hand had ever been laid upon them except in love. 
The}*- had been nurtured most tenderly. Forward 
they sprang as from death, and forward leaped the 
car. 

Where got Ben-Hur the large hand and mighty 
grip which helped him now so well? Where, but 
from the oar with which so long he had fought the 
sea ? So he kept his place, and gave the four free 
rein and called to them in soothing voice, tr} r ing 
merely to guide them round the dangerous turn, and 
before the fever of the people began to abate he had 
backed the mastery, and was again moving side by side 
with Messala. 

Gradually the speed quickened. On all the benches 
the spectators bent forward motionless. 

" A hundred sestertii on the Jew ! " cried San- 
ballat. 

" I will take thy sestertii," answered a Roman. 

" Do not so," interposed a friend. 

"Why?" 



AND IMPERSONATIONS. 81 

" Because Messala hath reached his utmost speed. 
See him lean over his chariot-rim, his reins loose. 
Look now at the Jew. By Hercules, the dog throws 
all his weight on the bits. If the gods help not our 
Roman he will be run away with by that Israelite. 
No, not yet, look ! Jove with us ! " 

If it were true that Messala had readied his utmost 
speed, the effort was with effect. Slowly but cer- 
tainly he was beginning to forge ahead. His horses 
were running with their heads low down. Their bodies 
appeared actually to skim the earth. How long could 
they keep the pace? It was but the commencement 
of the sixth round. On they dashed. As they neared 
the second goal, Ben-Hur turned in behind the 
Roman's car. 

The joy of the Messala faction reached its bound ; 
they screamed and howled. Esther scarcely breathed. 
Iras alone seemed glad. When the turn was com- 
pleted the two were abreast once more. As they 
whirled by, Esther saw Ben-Hur's face again, and it 
was whiter than before. Ilderim leaned forward, 
and whispered, "Saw 3^011 how clean the Arabs 
were, and fresh ? By the splendor of Jove, they 
have not been running : but now watch ! " " Ben- 
Hur ! Ben-Hur!" shouted the blunt voices of all 
the factions but the Roman. 

" Speed the Jew ; take the wall now." " On ! 
loose the Arabs! give them rein and scourge." 

" Let him not have the turn on thee, now or 
never." 

At that moment Ben-Hur leaned forward over his 
Arabs and gave them the reins. Out flew the many 
folded lash in his hand, over the backs of the 
startled steeds , it writhed and hissed and hissed and 
writhed again and again, and though it fell not, 
there were both sting and menace in its quick report. 
And instantly the Arabs answered with a leap that 
landed them along side the Roman car. Messala 
dared not look to see what the awakening portended. 
Above the noises of the race, there was but one 



82 READINGS, 11ECITATI0NS, 

voice, and that was Ben-Hur's as he called to tlie 
gallant Arabs." 

"On, Alair! On, Rigel ! what, Antares, dost 
thou linger now ? Good horse — Oho, Aldebaran ! I 
hear them singing in the tents. I hear the children 
singing, and the women singing of the stars, of Alair, 
Antares, Rigel, Aldebaran, victory, victory! and the 
song will never end. Well done! Home tomorrow, 
under the black tent-home! On, Antares! The 
tribe is waiting for us and the master is waiting ! 
'Tis done ! 'Tis done ! Ha, ha ! Steady ! The work 
is done — so ho! Rest!" Ben-Hur turns the first 
goal. And the race was won ! — Gen. Lew Wallace. 



WHAT MAKES THE GRASSES GROW? 

I closed my book, for nature's book 

Was opening that day ; 

And with a weary brain I took 

My hat, and wandered toward the brook 

That in the meadow lay, 

And there beside the tiny tide, 

I found a child at play. 

Prone on the sward, its little toes 

Wrought dimples in the sand, 

Its cheeks were fairer than the rose, 

I heard it murmur, " Mamma knows, 

But I not understand." 

While all unharmed a dainty blade 

Of grass was in its hand. 

"What wonldst thou know, my little one?" 

Said I with bearing wise ; 

For I, who thought to weigh the sun, 

And trace the course where planets run, 

And grasp their mysteries, 

Unto a baby's questionings 

Could surely make replies. 



AND IMPERSONATIONS. 83 

" What wouldst thou know ? " again I said, 

And gently bowing low 

I stroked its half-uplifted head. 

With chubby hand it grasped the blade 

And answered : " Oo will know ; 

For oo has whixers on oo face, 

What makes the grasses grow? " 

" Last fall," I said, "a grass-seed fell 

To the earth and went to sleep. 

All winter it slept in its cozy cell 

Till spring came tapping upon its shell ; 

Then it stirred and tried to peep 

With its little green eye, right up to the sky, 

And then it gave a leap. 

" For the sun was warm, and the earth was fair, 

It felt the breezes blow. 

It turned its cheek to the soft, sweet air, 

And a current of life so rich and rare 

Came up from its roots below; 

It grew and kept growing; and that, my child, 

Is the reason the grasses grow." 

" Oo ta.lks des like as if oo s'pose 

I's a baby, and I don't know 

'Bout nuffin' ! But babies and every one knows 

That grasses don't think ; for they only grows. 

My mamma has told me so. 

What makes 'em start, an' get bigger an' bigger? 

What is it that makes 'em grow f " 

How could I answer in words so plain 

That a baby could understand ? 

Ah, how could I answer my heart ! 'Twere vain 

To talk of the union of sun and rain 

In the rich and fruitful land ; 

For over them all was the mystery 

Of will and guiding hand. 



84 READINGS, RECITATIONS, 

What could I gather from learning more 

Than was written so long ago ? 

I heard the billows of science roar 

On the rocks of truth from the mystic shore ; 

And humbly bowing low 

I answered alike the man and child ; 

" God makes the grasses grow." 

St. Nicholas. 



THE PLEASURES OF HOPE. 

At summer's eve, when Heaven's ethereal bow 
Spans with bright arch the glittering hills below, 
Why to yon mountain turns the musing eye, 
Whose sunbright summit mingles with the sky? 
Why do those cliffs of shadowy tint appear 
More sweet than all the landscape smiling near? 
'Tis distance lends enchantment to the view, 
And robes the mountain in its azure hue. 
Thus, with delight we linger, to survey 
The promised joys of life's unmeasured way, 
Thus from afar each dim-discovered scene 
More pleasing seems than all the past hath been 
And every form that fancy can repair 
From dark oblivion, glows divinely there. 

What potent spirit guides the raptured eye 
To pierce the shades of dim futurity ? 
With thee, sweet Hope, resides the heavenly light 
That pours remotest rapture on the sight. 
Thine is the charm of life's bewildered way 
That calls each slumbering passion into play. 
Waked by thy touch, I see the sister band, 
On tiptoe, watching, start at thy command, 
And fly where'er thy mandate bids them steer, 
To pleasure's paths, or glory's bright career. 
Angel of Life ! thy glittering wings explore 
Earth's loneliest bounds, and ocean's wildest shore. 



AND TMPEUS02TATI01T8. 85 

Lo, to the wintry winds the pilot yields 

His bark careering o'er unfathomed fields. 

Now on Atlantic waves, he rides afar; 

Now far he sweeps where scarce a summer smiles 

On Behring's rocks, or Greenland's naked isles; 

Poor child of danger, nursling of the storm, 

Sad are the woes that wreck thy manly form. 

Rocks, waves and winds thy shattered bark delay, 

Thy heart is sad, thy home is far away. 

But hope can here her moonlit vigils keep, 

And sing to charm the spirit of the deep. 

His native hills that rise in happier climes, 

The grot that heard his song of other times, 

His cottage home, his bark of slender sail, 

His glassy lake and broomwood blossomed vale, 

Rush on his thoughts. He sweeps before the wind, 

Treads the loved shore he sighed to leave behind, 

Meets at each step a friend's familiar face, 

And flies at last to Helen's long embrace. 

Wipes from her cheek the rapture-speaking tear, 

And clasps with many a joy his children dear. 

Say, can the world one generous thought bestow 
To friendship weeping at the couch of Avoe ? 
Ah, no ! but a brighter soothes the last adieu, 
Souls of impassioned mould, she speaks to you. 
" Weep not," she says, " at Nature's transient pain, 
Congenial spirits part to meet again." 
What plaintive sobs thy filial spirit drew ; 
What sorrow choked thy long and last adieu, 
Daughter of Conrad ? When he heard his knell 
And bade his country and his child farewell, 
Thrice the sad father tore thee from his heart, 
And thrice returned to bless thee and to part. 
"Oh, weep not thus," he cried, "Young Eleanor, 
My bosom bleeds, but soon shall bleed no more, 
Short shall this half-extinguished spirit burn, 
And soon these limbs to kindred dust return. 
But not, my child, with life's precarious fire, 
The immortal ties of nature shall expire. 



86 READINGS, RECITATIONS, 

These shall resist the triumph of decay, 
When time is o'er, and. worlds have passed away. 
Cold in the dust this perished heart may lie, 
But its immortal life shall never die. 
Farewell ! when strangers lift thy father's bier, 
And place my nameless stone without a tear, 
Who then will soothe thy grief when mine is o'er, 
Who will protect thee, helpless Eleanor ? 
Ah ! methinks the generous and the good 
Will woo thee from the shades of solitude; 
O'er friendless grief compassion shall awake, 
And smile on innocence for mercy's sake." 

Lo, at the couch where infant beauty sleeps, 

Her silent watch the mournful mother keeps, 

And weaves a song of melancholy joy, 

"Sleep, image of thy father, sleep, my boy ! 

Bright as his manly sire the son shall be 

In form and soul ; but ah, more blest than he. 

And say, when summoned from the world and thee, 

I lay my head beneath the willow tree, 

Wilt thou, sweet mourner, at my stone appear 

And soothe my parted spirit lingering near. 

Oh ! wilt thou come at evening hour to shed, 

The tears of memory, o'er my narrow bed? 

So speaks affection ere the infant eye 

Can look regard or brighten in reply. 

Ah, how fondly looks admiring Hope the while, 

At every artless tear and every smile. 

Oh, say, without our hopes, without our fears, 
Without the home that plighted love endears, 
Without the smile from partial beauty won, 
Oh, what were man ? — a world without a sun. 
Till Hymen brought his love-delighted hour, 
There dwelt no joy in Eden's rosy bower. 
In vain the viewless seraphs lingering there, 
At starry midnight charmed the silent air. 
The world was sad, the garden was a wild, 
And man, the hermit, sighed, till woman smiled. 



AND IMPERSONATIONS. 87 

Auspicious Hope: in thy sweet garden grow 
Wreaths for each toil, a charm for every woe. 
Unfading hope, when life's last embers burn, 
When soul to soul and dust to dust return, 
Heaven to thy charge resigns the awful hour! 
Oh, then thy kingdom comes, immortal power! 
Bright to the soul thy seraph hands convey, 
The morning dreams of life's eternal day; 
Then, then the triumph and the trance begin, 
And all the Phoenix spirit burns within. 
Cease every joy to glimmer on nry mind, 
But leave, oh, leave the light of hope behind. 
Eternal Hope ; when yonder spheres sublime 
Pealed the first notes to sound the march of time, 
Thy joyous youth began, but not to fade. 
When all the sister planets have decayed, 
When wrapt in fire the realms of ether glow, 
And heaven's last thunder shakes the world below, 
Thou, undismayed, shall o'er the ruins smile, 
And light thy torch on Nature's funeral pile. 

Campbell. 



BOY BRITTAN. 

Boy Brttan — only a lad — a fair-haired boy. 

Sixteen — in his uniform ! 

fnto the storm — into the roaring jaws of grim Fort 

Henry — 
Boldly bears the Federal flotilla — into the battle 

storm ! 
Boy Brittan is Master's Mate aboard of the Essex — 
There he stands buoyant and eagle-eyed, 
By the brave Captain's side. 

Ready to do and dare? Aye, aye, sir, always ready — 

In his country's uniform ! 

Boom ! boom ! and now the flag-boat sweeps 

And now the Essex, into the battle-storm! 



88 READINGS, RECITATIONS. 

Boom ! boom! till river, and fort and field 

Are over-clouded by the battle's breath ; 

Then from the fort a gleam and a crashing gun, 

And the Essex is wrapt and shrouded in scalding 

steam ! 

But victory, victory ! 

Unto God all praise be ever rendered, 

Unto God all praise and glory be ! 

See, Boy Brittan ; see ! They strike ! Hurrah ! 

The Fort has surrendered ! Shout ! Shout ! my 

warrior boy ! 
And wave your cap and clap your hands for joy ! 
Cheer answer cheer and bear the cheer about — 
Hurrah ! hurrah ! for the fiery Fort is ours ! 

" Victory ! victory ! " is the shout 
" The day is ours — thanks to the brave endeavor 
Of heroes, boy, like thee ! 

Glory and deathless love to all who shared with thee ! 
And bravely endured and dared with thee. 
The day is ours ! The day is ours forever ! 
Glory and love for one and all — but for thee— 
Home ! Home ! a happy " welcome, welcome home," 
for thee ! 

And kisses of love for thee — 

And a mother's happy fears and a virgin's wreath of 

flowers. 
But suddenly wrecked and wrapt in seething steam, 
The Essex slowly drifted out of the battle's storm ! 
Slowly, slowly down — laden with the dead and the 

dying 
And there, among them, at the Captain's feet 
The shot-marred form of a beautiful boy is lying. 
There in his uniform. 

Laurels and tears for thee, Boy, laurels and tears for 

thee ! 
Laurels of light moist with the precious dew 



AND IMPERSONATIONS. 89 

Of tlie inmost heart of the Nation's loving heart, 

And blest by the balmy breath of the Beautiful and 
the True ! 

Moist, moist with the luminous breath of the sing- 
ing spheres 

And the Nation's starry tears; 

And tremble-touched by the pulse-like gush and 
start 

Of the universal music of the heart, 

And all deep sympathy ! 

Laurels and tears for thee, Boy 

Laurels of Light and tears of Love forevermore for 

thee 
And the mantle of Immortality ! 
And the flowers of Love and immortal Youth, 
And the tender heart-tokens of all truth — 
And the everlasting victory ! 
And the breath and bliss of Liberty, 
And the loving kiss of Liberty ; 
And the infinite love-span of the skies, 
That cover the Valleys of Paradise. 

For thee ! and all the braves who rest with thee ! 

And for one and all who died with thee, 

And now lie side b} 7 side with thee ! 

And for every one who lives and dies 

On the solid land or the heaving seas, 

Dear warrior-boy — like thee. 

O, the victory — the victory belongs to thee ! 

God ever keeps the brightest crown for such as thee, 

He gives it now for thee ! 

O young and brave and early and thrice blest — 

Thrice, thrice, thrice blest! 

Thy country turns once more to kiss thy youthful 

brow, 
And takes thee gently — gently to her breast, 
And whispers lovingly, u God bless thee — 
Bless thee now — my darling, thou shalt rest." 

Forceythe Willson, 



90 HEADINGS, EXCITATIONS, 

THE FALL OF JERUSALEM. 

(Prize Declamation, May, 18S9 ; N. Mo. State Normal.) 

The fall of our illustrious and unhappy city was 
supernatural. The destruction of the conquered 
was against the first principles of Roman polity ; 
and to the last hour of our national existence, Rome 
held out offers of peace, and lamented our frantic 
determination to be undone. But the decree was 
gone forth from a mightier throne. During the 
latter days of the siege, a hostility to which that of 
man was as a grain of sand to the tempest that 
drives it on — overpowered our strength and senses. 
Fearful shapes and voices in the air ; visions startling 
us from our short and troubled sleep ; lunacy in its 
most hideous forms; sudden death in the midst of 
vigor; the fury of the elements let loose upon our 
unsheltered heads ; we had every terror and evil that 
could beset human nature, but pestilence ; the most 
probable of all in a chVv crowded with the famishing, 
the diseased, the wounded, and the dead. Yet, 
though the streets were covered with the unburied ; 
though every wall and trench was streaming with 
gore; though six hundred thousand corpses lay flung 
over the rampart, naked to the sun — pestilence came 
not ; if it had come, the enem} 7 would have been 
scared away. But the "abomination of desolation," 
the pagan standard, was fixed ; where it was to re- 
main until the plough passed over the ruins of 
Jerusalem ! 

On one night, that fatal night ! no man laid his 
head upon his pillow. Heaven and earth were in 
conflict. Meteors burned above us ; the ground 
shook under our feet ; the volcano blazed ; the wind 
burst forth in irresistible blasts, and swept the living 
and the dead in whirlwinds, far into the desert. We 
heard the bellowing of the distant Mediterranean, 
as if its waters were at pur side, swelled by a new 



AND IMPERSONATIONS. 91 

deluge. The lakes and rivers roared, and inun- 
dated the land. The fiery sword shot out tenfold 
fire. Showers of blood fell. Thunder pealed from 
every quarter of the heaven. Lightning in immense 
sheets, withering eye and soul, burned from the 
zenith to the ground, and marked its track by forests 
on flame, and the shattered summits of the hills. 
Defence was now unthought of; for the mortal 
hostility had passed from the mind. Our hearts 
quaked for fear; but it was to see the powers of 
Heaven shaken. All cast away the shield and the 
spear, and crouched before the descending judgment. 
We were conscience-smitten. Our cries of remorse, 
anguish, and horror, were heard through the uproar 
of the storm. We howled to the caverns to hide us ; 
we plunged into the sepulchres to escape the wrath 
that consumed the living ; we would have buried 
ourselves under the mountains ! I knew the cause, 
the unspeakable cause ; and knew that the last hour 
of crime was at hand. A few fugitives, astonished 
to see one man among them not sunk into the lowest 
feebleness of fear, came round me, and besought me 
to lead them to some place of safety, if such were 
now to be found on the earth. I told them openly 
that they were to die, and counselled them to die in 
the hallowed ground of the temple. They followed 
me, through streets encumbered with every shape of 
human suffering, to the foot of Mount Moriah. But, 
beyond that, we found advance impossible. Piles of 
clouds, whose darkness was palpable, even in the 
midnight in which we stood, covered the holy hill. 
Still, not to be daunted by anything that man could 
overcome, I cheered my disheartened band, and 
attempted to lead the way up the ascent. But I 
had scarcely entered the cloud, when I was swept 
downward by a gust that tore the rocks in a flinty 
shower around me. 

Now came the last and most wondrous sign that 
marked the fate of Israel. While I lay helpless, I 
beard the whirlwind roar through the cloudy hill; 



92 READINGS, RECITATIONS, 

the vapors began to revolve, and the clouds rose, 
and rapidly shaped themselves into the forms of 
battlements and towers. The sound of voices was 
heard within, low and distant, yet strangely sweet. 
The lustre brightened, and the airy building rose, 
tower on tower, and battlement on battlement. 

In awe that held us mute, we knelt and gazed 
upon this more than mortal architecture, which con- 
tinued rising and spreading, and glowing with serener 
light, still soft and silvery, yet to which the broadest 
moonbeam was dim. At last, it stood forth to earth 
and heaven the colossal image of the first temple, 
the building raised by the wisest man, and con- 
secrated by the visible glory. All Jerusalem saw 
the image ; and the shout that in the midst of their 
despair ascended from its thousands and tens of 
thousands, told what proud remembrances were there. 
But a hymn was heard that might have hushed the 
world. Never fell on my ear, never on the human 
sense, a sound so majestic, yet so subduing ; so full 
of melancholy, yet of grandeur. The cloudy portal 
opened, and from it marched a host, such as man 
never had seen before, such as man never shall see 
but once again ; the guardian angels of the city of 
David — they came forth glorious, but with woe in 
all their steps ; the stars upon their helmets dim ; 
their robes stained ; tears flowing down their celestial 
beauty. " Let us go hence," was their song of sor- 
row; "Let us go hence," was answered by the sad 
echoes of the mountains. " Let us go hence," swelled 
upon the night, to the farthest limits of the land. 
The procession lingered long on the summit of the 
hill. Then the thunder pealed; and they rose at 
the command, diffusing waves of light over the ex- 
panse of heaven. Their chorus was heard, still 
magnificent and melancholy, when their splendor 
was diminished to the brightness of a star. The 
thunder roared again ; the cloudy temple was scat- 
tered on the winds ; and darkness, the omen of her 
graye, settled upon Jerusalem ! — Croly. 



AND IMPERSONATIONS. 93 



THE HARVEST. 

In a valley where the sunbeams 
Like our father's blessings fall 
Where repose the softest shadows 
And the dove and cuckoo call, 
Where the hay o'er meadows scattered, 
Casts its fragrance to the air, 
Dwells in peace a band of reapers, 
Winnowing joy from sheaves of care. 

Nature now is clad in verdure, 
Filled her lap with fragrant flowers, 
And the sweet-voiced birds of summer 
Warble in their vine-clad bowers 
Insects flitting, grasses waving, 
In and out the brooklet flows 
Bearing on its wayward journey 
Sweetest tidings of repose. 

Onward come the thrifty gleaners 
At the glimmer of the dawn, - 
In their beating hearts contentment — 
On their lips the hymn of morn. 
Awake ! awake ! the rosy light 
In dawning splendor beams : 
The sun arises from his sleep, 
And earth in beauty gleams. 

Bear they in their hands the sickle, 
To the grain a dreaded foe ; 
By its strength and man's united 
Sheaf on sheaf will soon lie low. 
All the glory of the harvest 
Shines upon the valley plain, 
And the laughing sunbeams hover 
Oyer fields of golden grain. 



94 HEADINGS, RECITATIONS, 

Voice of gleaners, clash of sickles, 
Songs that float from field and holrn, 
Are the tunes of labor's anthem 
Floating through the azure dome. 
One by one the sheaves are falling, 
One by one are cut and bound, 
Like brave soldiers in the conflict 
Fall to earth with glory crowned. 

In far distant homes fond mothers 
Weep in silence o'er their fears ; 
O'er the sheaves the clouds keep vigil, 
Mother Earth sheds dewy tears. 
In the western sky low sinking 
Sunbeams kiss the radiant stream ; 
Day, that light would lull to slumber, 
Dieth with the fading gleam. 

To rest! to rest ! the reapers sing, 

The pale-faced moon ascends the height; 

O'er earth the misty twilight falls, 

A shadow bridge 'twixt day and night. 

Distant hills repeat the anthem 

Echoes fainter, fainter grow, 

As the far bell's distant tinklings 

Still resound in music low. 

So life's morning dawns in splendor 
On our life-work's glorious field ; 
Hope and love and truth and beauty 
Here a bounteous harvest yield. 
Youth, so light of heart and footsteps, 
Cometh singing glad and free, 
Age, fast fleeting, crowned with silver, 
Totters slowly o'er the lea. 

Gleaners golden sheaves are binding, 
Soon the harvest will be o'er ; 
Hearts o'er shattered hopes be grieving, 
Idols — dust forever more ! 



AND IMPERSONATIONS. 95 

Work ! the nightfall draweth nearer, 
Earthly pleasures fade away, 
Death's dark sleep is fast approaching, 
Ushering in eternal day. 

Brothers, moments swift receding, 
Bid us reap with steady hand, 
Soon we'll turn our footsteps homeward, 
To the heavenly harvest land, 
Shining sheaves of love and labor 
To the throne above we'll bear, 
And our Father, all protecting, 
Waits to greet his children there. 

Alice La Due. 



THE SONG OF STEAM. 

(Suitable for Concert Recitation.) 

Come ! Harness me down with your iron bands, 

Be sure of your curb and rein ; 
For I scorn the strength of your puny hands, 

As a tempest scorns a chain ; 
How I laughed as I lay concealed from sight 

For many a countless hour, 
At the childish boast of human might, 

And the pride of human power. 

When I saw an army upon the land, 

A navy upon the sea, 
Creeping along, a snail-like band, 

Or waiting the wayward breeze, 
I could not but think how the world would feel 

As these were outstripped afar, 
When I should be bound to the rushing keel, 

Or chained to the flying car. 

Ha ! ha ! ha ! They found me at last ! 

They invited me forth at length, 
And I rushed to my throne with thunder blast, 

And I laughed in my iron strength. 



96 READINGS, HESITATIONS, 

Oh, then ye saw a wondrous change 

On the earth and ocean wide, 
Where now my fiery armies range, 

Nor wait for wind or tide. 

Hurrah ! hurrah ! the giant streams, 

Or the mountain's steep decline, 
Time— space — have yielded 10 my power; — 

The world ! the world is mine ! 
The ocean pales, where'er I sweep, 

To hear my strength rejoice. 
Even winds and lightnings are left behind, 

They tremble at my voice. 

In the darksome depths of the fathomless mine, 

My tireless arm doth play, 
Where the rocks never saw the sun decline, 

Or the dawn of the glorious day. 
I bring earth's glittering jewels up 

From the hidden caves below, 
And I make the fountain's granite cup 
With a crystal gush o'erflow. 

I blow the bellows, I forge the steel 

In all the shops of trade ; 
I hammer the ore, and turn the wheel 

Where my arms of strength are made ; 
I manage the furnace, the mill, the mint ; 

I carry, I spin, I weave ; 
And all my doings I put into print 

On every Saturday eve. 

I've no muscle to weary, no brain to decay, 

No bones to be laid on the shelf. 
And soon I intend you may go and play, 

While I manage the world myself. 
Then harness me down with your iron bands, 

Be sure of your curb and rein, 
For I scorn the strength of your puny hands, 

As the tempest scorns a chain. 

Cutler, 



AND IMPERSONATIONS. 97 



THE BRIDE OF THE GREEK ISLE. 

Come from the woods with the citron-flowers, 

Come with your lyres for the festal hours, 

Maids of bright Scio ! They came, and the breeze 

Bore their sweet songs o'er the Grecian seas ; — 

They came, and Eudora stood robed and crowned, 

The bride of the morn. 

Jewels flashed out from her braided hair, 

And pearls on her quivering bosom shone. 

She looked on the vine at her father's door, 

Like one that is leaving his native shore ; 

She turned — and her mother's gaze brought back 

Each hue of her childhood's faded track. 

Oh ! hush the song, and let her tears 

Flow to the dream of her early years ! 

Holy and pure are the drops that fall 

When the young bride goes from her father's hall; 

She goes unto love yet untried and new, 

She parts from love that hath still been true ; 

She wept — yet laid her hand the while, 

In his, that waited her dawning smile. 

" Why do I weep ? — to leave the vine 
Whose clusters o'er me bend, 
A thousand thoughts of all things dear 
Like shadows o'er me sweep, 
I leave my sunny childhood here ; 
Oh, therefore let me weep. 
I leave thee, father, mother, I leave thee, too ! 
On thy breast pouring out joy and woe 
I have found that holy place of rest 
Still changeless, — yet I go ! 
Lips that have lulled me with your strain, 
Eyes that have watched my sleep ! 
Will earth give love like yours again? 
Sweet mother! let me weep ! " 
7 



98 READINGS, TtECTTATIONS, 

But a changeful thing - is the human heart, 

It is well ! the cloud on her soul that lay, 

Hath melted in glittering drops away. 

She turns to her lover, Ianthis the brave. 

Mother ! On earth it must still be so, 

Thou rearest the lovely to see them go ! 

Still and sweet was the home that stood 

In the flowering depths of a Grecian wood. 

And thither Ianthis had brought his bride, 

They lifted the veil from Eudora's face, 

It smiled out softly in pensive grace. 

Bring wine, bring odors ! the board is spread — 

Bring roses ! a chaplet for every head ! 

The wine-cups foamed, and the rose was showered 

On the young and fair from the world embowered. 

Hush ! be still ! — Was that no more 

Than the murmur from the shore? 

Silence ! — Did thick rain drops beat 

On the grass like trampling feet? 

Fling down the goblet! draw the sword ! 

The groves are filled with a pirate horde ! 

Through the dim olives their sabers shine 

Now must the red blood stream for wine ! 

The j'outh from the battle to banquet sprang, 

The woods with the shriek of the maidens rang. 

Eudora, Eudora! thou dost not fly ! 

She saw but Ianthis before her lie, 

With the blood from his breast in a gushing flow, 

And a gathering film in his lifted eye, 

That sought his young bride's mournfully. 

She knelt down beside him, and her arms she wound 

Like tendrils his drooping neck around 

But they tore her hence in her wild despair, 

Those fierce sea rovers. They left him there. 

So closed the triumph of youth and love ! 

Gloomy lay the shore that night, gloomy lay the shore 

and still. 
O'er the wave no gay guitar sent its floating music 

far. 



AND IMPERSONATIONS. 99 

But a A'oice of woe from the se;i-be;it locks arose, 
As Eudora's mother stood gazing o'er the Egean flood. 
With fixed and straining eye. Oh, was the spoiler's 

vessel nigh ? 
Yes, there becalmed in night so dark, brooding it 

frowned, that evil bark, 
And the heavy sound of its flapping sail, idly, vainly 

wooed the gale. 
Hushed was all else — had ocean's breast rocked e'en 

Eudora to rest? 
To rest ? Nay not rest ! What piercing cry 
Bursts from the heart of the ship on high ? 
What light through the heavens shoots from the deck 

up? 
'Tis fire ! there are wild forms hurrying to and fro, 
There are shout and signal-gun and call, 
And dashing of water — but fruitless all ! 
Man may not fetter, nor ocean tame 
The might and wrath of the rushing flame ! 
It hath twined the mast, it hath touched the sails, 
It hath taken the flag's high place in air. 

The swimmers are plunging from stern and prow, 

Eudora, Eudora! where, where art thou? 

Mother ! who stands on the deck alone ! 

The child of thy bosom ! and lo ! a brand 

Blazing up high in her lifted hand, 

Her veil flung back and her free dark hair, 

Swayed by the flames as they rock and flare, 

And her fragile form to its loftiest height 

Dilated as if by the spirit's might, 

And her eye with an eagle gladness fraught, 

Oh ! could this work be of woman wrought? 

Yes ! 'Twas her deed ! By that haughty smile 

Ye know 'twas hers ! She hath kindled her funeral 

pile, 
That never might shame on that bright head be ! 
Her blood was the Greek's ! It hath made her free ! 
Proudly she stands like an Indian bride 
On the pyre with the holy dead beside. 



100 READINGS, EECITATIONS, 

One moment more and her hands are clasped, 
Fallen is the torch the}^ had wildly grasped, 
And her sinking knee unto Heaven is bowed, 
And her last look raised through the smoke's dim 

shroud, 
And her lips as in prayer for her pardon move, — 
Now the night gathers o'er youth and love. 

Mrs. Remans. 



GATES. 

God bless the man who first invented gates ; 

Front gates I mean. 

The expression is not mine, 

Old Sancho used it once upon a time. 

And what the shrewd and honest fellow wrote, 

I, with a poet's license, sure can quote. 

Now who invented gates is quite a mystery. 

In vain we ask the doctors, old and wise, 

They slowly shake their heads and wink their eyes, 

Answer our question with a solemn groan 

Advising us to let such things alone. 

In vain we search the volumed leaves of history — ■ 

Thus baffled we put on our thinking cap. 

When, lo ! — it must have been some Yankee chap, 

Who cried, 'tis worse than going to the wars, 

To clamber fences and to crawl through bars ! 

Mankind 'tis certain wants one comfort more, 

That want I will supply. The need is great. 

He seized his jack-knife, and behold a gate ! 

How useful is the gate in youthful years, 
When time has laid upon the brow no care 
Nor traced its furrowed lines of sorrow there. 
How oft we sought the swinging old front gate, 
That scarcely bent beneath our childish weight, 
And there forgot our little griefs and fears. 
Oh ! blessed golden years ! 



AND IMPERSONATIONS. 101 

When we were happier on the creaking gate, 

Than the proud monarch in his car of state. 

And through that gate, one glorious summer day 

Our brother walked, in all a soldier's pride, 

We, weeping, clustered round his maul}- side, 

Then he was gone, and we could only pray. 

There was a battle down in Tennessee ; 

And gloriously the banner of the free 

Was carried b}>- brave men with dauntless breast, 

Till where the fight was like a raging hell, 

In the front ranks of all our brother fell. 

And we — well — you know the rest, 

And through that same front gate, his form they 

bore, 
Our own dear brother had come back once more. 

But the chief time when front gates are applied 

Is at the witching hour of eventide, 

For the bold lover and his lady fair 

To meet — and — talk about the weather there. 

This subject through, another course he claims, 

Namely — to praise and call her pretty names. 

Thus is it, ere the prosy lamps are lighted 

Provided there are lamps along the street, 

If not, why never mind it, sweet. 

Their vows are pledged, and mutual love is plighted, 

And secrets told, not meant for common ears, 

No thought of how much the old gate hears ; 

Old folks may laugh, and younger ones deride it — 

What's that to me ? Of course I've never tried it. 

Of course when lamps went out and hours grew 

late, 
I never leaned across the old front gate. 
Dear old front gate, who has not known thee well ! 
Strong man and maiden, old and young ! 
Oh, that some power conld now unseal thy tongue; 
What tales of joy or sadness couldst thou tell; 
How many answers have vanquished hate 
Across thy time-worn bars, dear old front gate — 
Peace — fare thee well ! 



102 HEADINGS, RECITATIONS, 

There is another gate we must all pass through, 
When life is over and our time has fled, 
When we lie sleeping with the silent dead ; 
When will it come, friend, for me and you ? 
Yes, there's another gate — all pearls and gold, 
And they that enter lay all burdens down, 
They see a city glorious to behold, 
Where every habitant wears a crown of gold, 
And by the King's own hand that crown is given, 
Oh, grand last gate of all — the gate of heaven. 

G-oodnow. 



THE RACE PROBLEM. 

The stoutest apostle of the church, they say, is the 
missionary, and the missionary, wherever he unfurls 
his flag, will never find himself in deeper need of 
unction and address than I, bidden to-night to plant 
the standard of a Southern Democrat in Boston's ban- 
quet hall, and to discuss the problem of the races in 
the home of Phillips and of Sumner. But, Mr. Presi- 
dent, if a purpose to speak in perfect frankness and 
sincerity ; if earnest understanding of the vast inter- 
ests involved; if a consecrating sense of what dis- 
aster must follow misunderstanding and estrange- 
ment; if these may be counted to steady undisci- 
plined speech and to strengthen an untried arm — then, 
sir, I shall find the courage to proceed. 

Far to the south, Mr. President, lies the fairest and 
richest domain of this earth. It is the home of a 
brave and hospitable people. A perfect climate above 
a fertile soil, yields to the husbandman every product 
of the temperate zone. There, by night the cotton 
whitens beneath the stars, and by day the wheat locks 
the sunshine in its bearded sheaf. That, sir, is the 
picture and promise of my home. Hear one thing 
more. My people, your brothers in the South — 
brothers in blood, in destiny, in all that is best in our 
past and future — are so beset with this problem that 



AND IMPERSONATIONS. 103 

their very existence depends on its right solution. 
Nor are they wholly to blame for its presence. The 
slaveships of the Republic sailed from your ports — 
the slaves worked iii our fields. You will not defend 
the traffic, nor I the institution. But I do here 
declare that in its wise and humane administra- 
tion, in lifting the slave to ihe heights of which he 
had not dreamed in his savage home, and giving 
him a happiness he has not yet found in freedom — 
our fathers left their sons a saving and excellent 
heritage. In the storm of war, this institution was 
lost. I thank God as heartily as you do, that human 
slavery is gone forever from American soil. But the 
freed man remains, and with him a problem without 
precedent or parallel. Note its appalling conditions. 
Two utterly dissimilar races on the same soil — with 
equal political and civil rights — almost equal in num- 
bers, but terribly unequal in intelligence and responsi- 
bility — each pledged against fusion — one for a cen- 
tury in servitude to the other, and freed at last by a 
desolating war — the experiment sought by neither 
but approached by both with doubt — these are the 
conditions. Under these, adverse at every point, we 
are required to carry these two races in peace and 
honor to the end. Never, sir, has such a task been 
given to mortal stewardship. Never before this Re- 
public has the white race divided on the rights of an 
alien race. The red man was cut down as a weed, 
because he hindered the way of the American citizen. 
The yellow man was shut out of this Republic because 
he was an alien and an inferior. The red man was 
owner of the land — the } r ellow man highly civilized 
and assimilable — but they hindered both sections and 
are gone. But the black man, clothed with every 
privilege of government, affecting but one section, is 
pinned to the soil, and my people commanded to make 
good at any hazard, and at any cost, his full and equal 
heirship of American privilege and prosperity. It 
matters not that every other race has been routed or 
excluded, without rhyme or reason. It matters not 



104 READINGS, RECITATIONS, 

that wherever the whites and blacks have touched, 
in any era or in any clime, there has been irreconcilable 
violence. It matters not that no two races however 
similar have ever lived anywhere at any time, on the 
same soil with equal rights, in peace. In spite of 
these things we are commanded to make good this 
change of American policy which has not, perhaps, 
changed American prejudice — to make certain here 
what has elsewhere been impossible between whites 
and blacks — and to reverse, under the very worst 
conditions, the universal verdict of racial history. 

We give the world this year a crop of 7,500,000 
bales of cotton, worth $450,000,000, and its cash 
equivalent in grain, grasses, and fruit. This enormous 
crop could not have come from the hands of sullen 
and discontented labor. It comes from the peaceful 
fields in which laughter and gossip rise above the hum 
of industry, and contentment runs with the singing 
plow. It is claimed that this ignorant labor is de- 
frauded of its just hire. I present the tax books of 
Georgia, which show that the negro, twenty -five years 
ago a slave, has in Georgia alone $ 10,000.000 of assessed 
property, worth twice that much. Does not that 
record honor him and vindicate his neighbors ? What 
people, penniless, illiterate, has done so well? For 
every Afro-American agitator, stirring the strife in 
which alone he prospers, I can show you a hundred 
negroes, happy in their cabin homes, tilling their own 
land by day, and at night taking from the lips of their 
children the helpful message their State sends them 
from the school-house door. And the school-house it- 
self bears testimony. In Georgia we added last year 
8250,000 to the school fund, making a total of more 
than $1,000,000 — and this in the face of prejudice not 
vet conquered — of the fact that the whites are assessed 
for $368,000,000, the blacks for $10,000,000, and yet 
49 per cent of the beneficiaries are black children 
— and in the doubt of many wise men if education 
helps or can help our problem. Charleston, with her 



AND IMPERSONATIONS. 105 

taxable value's cut half in two since 1860, pays more 
in proportion for public .schools than Boston. Al- 
though it is easier to give much out of much, than 
little out of little, the South, with one-seventh of 
the taxable property of the countiy, with relatively 
larger debt, having received only one-tenth as much 
of public lands, and having back of its tax books none 
of the half billion of bonds that enrich the North, yet 
gives nearly one-sixth of the public-school fund. The 
negro vote can never control in the South, and it 
would be well if partisans at the North would under- 
stand this. 1 have seen the white people of a State 
set about by black hosts until their fate seemed sealed. 
But, sir, some brave man, banding them together, 
would rise, as Elisha rose in beleaguered Samaria, and, 
touching their eyes with faith, bid them look abroad 
to see the very air " filled with the chariots of Israel 
and the horsemen thereof." If there is any human 
force that cannot be withstood, it is the power of the 
banded intelligence and responsibility of a free com- 
munity. Against it, numbers and corruption cannot 
prevail. It cannot be forbidden in the law or divorced 
in force. It is the unalterable right of every free com- 
munity — the just and righteous safeguard against an 
ignorant or corrupt suffrage. It is on this, sir, that 
we rely in the South. Not the cowardly menace of 
mask or shotgun ; but the peaceful majesty of intel- 
ligence and responsibility, massed and unified for the 
protection of its homes and the preservation of its 
liberty. That, sir, is our reliance and our hope, and 
against it all the powers of earth shall not prevail. 
You may pass force bills, but they will not avail. 
You may surrender your own liabilities to federal 
election law — this old State which holds in its charter 
the boast that it "is a free and independent common- 
wealth " — it may deliver its election machinery into 
the hands of the government it helped to create — but 
never, sir, will a single state of this Union, North or 
South, be delivered again to control of an ignorant 
and inferior race. We wrested our State government 



106 READINGS, RECITATIONS, 

from negro supremacy when the Federal drum beat 
rolled closer to the ballot-box and Federal bayonets 
hedged it deeper about than will ever again be permit- 
ted in this free government. But, sir, though the can- 
non of this Republic thundered in every voting district 
of the South, we still should find in the mercy of God 
the means and the courage to prevent its reestablish- 
ment ! — Henry W. Grrady. 



MORMON WIFE NUMBER ONE, ON THE 
ARRIVAL OF NUMBER TWENTY-ONE. 

Our husband has brought home another wife, 

'Twas lonesome with twenty round, 
And so the church sealed in number twenty-one, 

And now a new favorite is found. 
She'll sit at the head of the table too, 

Be foremost in everything. 
Her whims will be law, and she'll be the first 

To have a new bonnet next spring. 

I married Joe Smith thirty years ago, 

My Mormon belief was firm ; 
But when he brought home a second wife more, 

My conscience began to squirm. 
For while the Smith family were always famed 

For being of numerous breed, 
The thought of him having a single wife more, 

Was far from my Mormon creed. 

I thought, when we married, us two was one, 

One flesh should the twain ever be ; 
Us wives now make twenty-odd kinds of flesh, 

As bad as town hash can be. 
Instead of my being a better half 

And queen of his home and heart, 
He has brought me to one twenty-first of one-half, 

Or more than a forty-twoth part. 



AND IMPERSONATIONS. 107 

I, once a whole woman, am dwindled down 

To the forty-twoth part of u man. 
And what will I do, it" he still goes on 

Pursuing his Mormon plan ? 
My children's mixed up with his other wives' 
children, 

Till now when a young one falls, 
We twenty-odd mothers of ninety-three kids, 

Can't tell whose it is that squalls. 

He's married the sisters of wives he's got, 

Till children can't tell 
If ma is mother or auntie, or if their pa 

Is father or uncle-in-law. 
And I, who was first in his heart, am last, 

Each year crowded further back. 
I am growing old so fast, 

And I'll die without getting a seal-skin sacque. 

Last week I just asked him for twenty cents, 
He looked at me cold and blank ; 

Then pointing to us twei^-one wives, he sighed, 
" D' ye think I'm a Rothschild's bank? " 

And now here's one more to divide us, 
She'll get the lion's share, 

Except when she grabs at his old bald head, 
She won't get her share of hair. 

But some day the angel of God will come 

And the poor man must go ; 
How mournful the funeral rites will be 

With all us widders in woe ; 
Our forty-two eyes a sheddin' tears, 

Our ninety-three children round, 
How stylishly grand the procession will be 

Stretched out to the burying-ground. 

And when we are all lying side by side, 
Smith's grave-yard will be immense ; 

The children's white head-stones all in a row 
Will look like a picket fence; 



108 HEADINGS, RECITATIONS, 

And when the last trump that awakes the dead 
Shall echo through heaven's dome, 

Smith's family will climb up the golden stairs, 
Like camp-meeting going home. 

L. B. Cake, 



THE DREAMLAND SEA. 

What matter though my pilgrim feet 

May never press the stranger's land, 
Or wander lone where wild waves beat 

With ceaseless moan on ocean's strand ? 
For me expands a lovelier deep, 

Whose isles in visioned beauty sleep ; 
And never ocean waves could be 

So bright as thine, fair dreamland sea. 

My castle crowns the boldest steep 

By warring winds and waters scarred, 
That seaward leans, and o'er the deep 

Keeps evermore unceasing ward. 
Full-freighted with their wings of snow, 

The white ships come, the white ships go; 
While in the shade of cliff and towers 

I dream away the gliding hours. 

My fairy fleet that long has lain 

Close moored in some enchanted bay, 
Borne by fair gales across the main 

Sails swifty on its homeward way. 
My ships, my stately ships, I see ! 

Full many a royal argosie, 
Like white-winged birds they speeding come 

And bring their garnered treasures home. 

WEE JOUKYDAIDLES. 

Wee Joukydaidles, toddlin' oot an' in ; 
Oh, but she's a cutty, makin' sic a din ! 



AND IMPERSONATIONS. 109 

Aye so fu' o* mischief, and minds na what I say : 
My very heart gangs loup, loup, fifty times a day ! 

Wee Joukydaidles : where's she slumpin' noo ? 
She's tumblin' i' the cruivie, and lauchin' to the soo, 
Noo she sees my angry ee, an' aff she's like a hare ! 
Lassie, when I get ye, I'll scud ye till ye're sair ! 

Wee Joukydaidles : noo she's breakin' dishes ; 
Noo she's soakiti' the burn, catchin' little fishes; 
Noo she's i' the barn-yard, playin' wi' the fouls, 
Feedin' them wi' butter-cakes, snaps an' sugars bools ! 

James Smith. 



LE MARIAGE DE CONVENANCE. 

You have called for a glimpse of my trousseau? 

How nice ! just step into my room ; 
And Alice please draw back that curtain, 

This place is as dark as a tomb ! 
I'll ring for Lisette ; you don't know, girls, 

What a bother this marrying brings ! 
But it pays, after all, when it's over — 

I have some such elegant things ! 

This garnet and rose Uncle Arthur 

Selected in Paris last June ; 
Worth made it ! Just notice the trimming, 

The lace, the exquisite galloon ! 
This sack is a present from Flora ; 

She's living in Paris, you know. 
I waited on her when she married 

Old Simons, a twelve-month ago. 

They say that her rooms are palatial, 

And all in such wonderful style ; 
Quite a change — to a man with a million 

From a thousand a year and Tom Lyle — 



110 HEADINGS, BECTTATTONS, 

By the way, Colonel Harrison tells me 

Poor Tom is a wreck of himself, 
Has drank ever since she was married. 

There's my bine moire antique on the shelf, 

You need not unfold it, Lisette, 
We see how it's made ; please to find me 

That yellow-hued Honiton set. 
You remember that queer old Aunt Hester 

Who staid here last winter awhile, 
And preached to me so about Flora 

And sympathized so with Tom Lyle? 

The lace, like herself, is old-fashioned, 

But fit for the praise of a king. 
She sent it, — confess that you think it 

Right good in the clever old thing. 
I've a set of magnificent diamonds 

As pure as a cluster of tears ; 
The gift of his precious old father — 

They've been in the family for years. 

And there are my rose-colored cameos, 

Don't you see? by the pearls — just this side ; 
I promise their match to whoever 

Among you will be the next bride. 
The wonderful dress of all dresses, 

The robe of to-morrow, you know, 
So perfectly stylish and splendid — 

I've promised mamma not to show. 

Claude says I'll be so bewildering 

He'll forget to remember the ring. 
Come, Alice, of what are you thinking ? 

" Of the lover who loved me last spring? " 
Bah ! fold up my dresses, Lisette, 

And don't let my jewel-case fall ,' 
It's well, Alice, some one remembers — 

I never think of him at all. 






AND IMPERSONATIONS, HI 

Dear me, how lime Hies! I' nmsi hurry; 

Claude said he was coming- at eight. 
Good-night. They are gone ; and I alone in my 
chamber, 

Door locked and the close curtains drawn. 
Alone with my jewels and laces, 

A sobbing, a miserable thing, 
Alone with the thoughts that possess me 

Of that lover who loved me last spring. 

God knows I believed that you loved me, 

As we sat on the steps in the dark ; 
I remember the words that you uttered — 

I know that they mean nothing now. 
And yet with the thought that you loved me, 

My cheek caught the soft scarlet stain 
Of the sweet, happy shame of the woman 

Who loves and is loved back again. 

And when you were gone and the moonlight 

Rose softly and late o'er the scene, 
I knelt in that dim, dewy garden, 

In happy thanksgiving and prayer. 
My life to your mood was a mirror — 

God pity such mirrors as these ! — 
My heart was a deep-thrilling organ, . 

Your love was the hand on the keys. 

Ah, dear, you were sure that I loved you 

Although I said never a word, 
Why, the wild heart that beat in my bosom 

A child could have listened and heard. 
And you said, laughing low, " Do you fancy 

Your silence deceives me to-night?" 
And I faltered and failed in the answer, 

I would have made careless and light. 

I had prayed for love's fruit and before me, 

Behold ! it hung golden and fair ! 
But how could I dream it had ripened 

Beside the dead sea of despair I 



112 READINGS, RECITATIONS, 

God gave it to me in its beauty ! 

Within it the cold ashes lay. 
1 have eaten that fruit and its knowledge 

Stands bitterly by me to-day. 

What have I left now but a memory, 

And perhaps a pale flower or two ? 
A dainty blue robe that was ruined 

By sitting too long in the dew ; 
A book that you brought me that evening 

When you came in the storm and the rain ; 
The ghost of a kiss on my forehead, 

An anguish of lingering pain. 

Oh ! life is a terrible drama ! 

Each actor must play out his r61e ! 
To-morrow I stand at the altar 

With a lie on my lips and my soul ! 
My God ! When I see on my finger 

The gleam of that bright marriage ring, 
Oh ! shelter my soul from the memory 

Of the lover who loved me last spring. 

Hunt. 



MY SHIPS AT SEA. 

If all the ships I have at sea 
Should come a sailing home to me, 
Ah well ! The harbor would not hold 
So many sails as there would be, 
If all my ships came in from sea. 

If half my ships came in from sea 

And brought their precious freight to me, 

Ah well! I should have wealth as great 

As any king that sits in state, 

So rich the treasures that would be 

In half my ships now out at sea. 



AND IMPERSONATIONS. 113 

If just one ship I have at sea 

Should come a sailing home to me, 

Ah well ! The storm-cloud then might frown ; 

Fur if the others all went down, 

Still proud, and rich, and glad I'd be 

If that one ship came in from sea. 

If that one ship went down at sea, 

And all the others came to me, 

Weighed down with gems and wealth untold, 

With riches, honor, glory, gold. 

The poorest soul on earth I'd be 

If that one ship went down at sea. 

O skies, be calm ! O winds, blow free — 
Blow all my ships safe home to me, 
But if thou sendest some awreck 
To never more come sailing back, 
Send any, all that skim the sea, 
But being my love ship home to me. 

Ella Wheeler Wilcox, 



THE BABY'S PILLOW. 

" So tired, mamma ! " our darling one 
Whispered when the day was done, 

And climbed upon my knee. 
" This is the nicest place to rest " — 
His curly head upon my breast 

He placed so trustfully. 
We thoughtless mothers little know 
How far each day the children go. 

If we could measure all the miles 
They travel, with their tears and smiles, 

We would not chafe and fret 
Because they leave their books and play 
And come to us at close of day, 



114 READINGS, RECITATIONS, 

Their cheeks with tear-drops wet ; 
Or think it such a grievous wrong 
They ask for story or for song. 

"So tired, mamma ! a stor}- tell 
To Baby ; one he likes so well 

About the ' blessing man' 
Who had that gentle, loving look 
And in his arms the children took; 

Please, mamma, if you can." 
And so I told the story o'er 
As I had done so oft before. 

But at the close that night I said, 

" Christ had not where to lay his head 

When he was tired, my child. 
Foxes have holes, the birds have nests 
And children have their mothers' breasts." 

The baby's blue eyes mild 
Looked into mine, and then they strayed 
To where his own wee bed was made. 

" I wish that I'd been there that time," 
He gently said, I'd given mine — 

My little pillow white — 
I'd let him have it, too, to keep, 
So he could have a place to sleep 

As I do every night. 
Mamma, do tell him, that I would 
Give him my pillow if I could." 

Mrs. S. T. Perry. 



A MADMAN'S MANUSCRIPT 

{Prize Recitation, June, 1S90. N. Mo. State Normal School.) 

" Yes ! — a madman ! how that word would have 
struck to my heart long years ago ! How it would 
have roused the terror that used to come upon me 



AND IMPERSONATIONS. 115 

sometimes: sending the blood hissing and tingling 
through my veins! 1 like it mow though! It's a 
line name ! Show me the monarch whose angry 
frown was ever feared like the glare of a madman's 
eye. Ho ! ho ! ho ! It's a grand thing to be mad ! 
To gnash one's teeth and howl through the long still 
night to the merry ring of a heavy chain ! Hurrah 
for the madman's house ! Oh, it's a rare place ! 

I remember days when I was afraid of being mad; 
when I used to start from my sleep, and fall upon 
my knees, and pray to be spared from the curse of 
my race. I knew that madness was mixed up with 
my very blood ; that one generation had passed 
•away without the pestilence appearing among them, 
and that I was the first in whom it would revive. I 
knew it must be so : that so it always had been, and 
so it ever would be: and when I cowered in some 
obscure corner of a crowded room, and saw men 
whisper, and point and turn their eyes toward me, 
I knew they were telling each other of the doomed 
madman : and I slunk away again to mope in soli- 
tude. 

Large dusky forms crouched in the corners of the 
room, and bent over my bed at night, tempting me 
to madness. They told me in low whispers, that the 
floor of the old house in which my father's father 
died, was stained with his own blood, shed by his 
own hand, in raging madness. I drove my fingers 
into my ears, but they screamed into my head till 
the room rang with it, that in one generation before 
him the madness slumbered, but that his grandfather 
had lived for years with his hands fettered to the 
ground to prevent him tearing himself to pieces. I 
knew they told the truth. 

Ha ! ha ! At last it came upon me, and I wondered 
how I ever could have feared it. I knew I was mad, 
but they dicf not even suspect it. I low I used to 
laugh for joy when I was alone and thought how 
well I kept my secret, and how quickly my friends 



116 BEADING S, EEC IT A TI0N8, 

would have fallen from me if they had known the 
truth. Oh, it was a merry life ! 

Riches became mine, wealth poured in upon me, 
and I rioted in wealth enhanced a thousand-fold by 
the consciousness of my well-kept secret. 

How those three proud overbearing brothers hum- 
bled themselves before me ! The old white-headed 
father, too — such devoted friendship — he worshipped 
me ! The old man had a daughter and the young 
men a sister; and all the five were poor. I was rich, 
and when I married the girl I saw a smile of triumph 
play upon the faces of her needy relatives, as they 
thought of their well-planned scheme and their fine 
prize. It was for me to smile. They little thought 
they had married her to a madman ! 

Stay ! If they had known it, would they have 
saved her ? A sister's happiness against her husband's 
gold? In one thing I was deceived with all my 
cunning. If I had not been mad I should have known 
that the girl would rather have been placed stiff and 
cold in a leaden coffin than borne an envied bride 
to my rich glittering home. 

But the girl was beautiful ! In the bright moonlight 
nights when I start up from my sleep, and all is quiet 
about me, I see, standing still and motionless in one 
corner of this cell, a slight and wasted figure, with 
long black hair, and eyes that fix their gaze on me. 
Hush! that form is hers; the face is very pale and 
the eyes are glassy bright : that figure never moves ; 
it never frowns. 

For nearly a year I saw that sweet face grow paler, 
and never knew the cause. I found it out at last 
though. She had never liked me. She despised my 
wealth and hated the splendor in which she lived. 
She loved another ! This I had never thought of. I 
pitied — yes, I pitied the wretched life to which her 
cold and selfish relations had doomed her. I resolved 
to kill her! to free her from the pain in which she 
daily lived ! Oh ! the pleasure of strapping the 
razor day after day, feeling the sharp edge, and think- 



AND IMPERSONATIONS. 117 

ing of the gash one stroke of its thin bright edge 
would make ' 

At last the old spirits whispered in my ear that the 
time had come. I grasped the blade firmly, rose softly 
from the bed, and leaned over my sleeping wife. She 
had been weeping ; traces of tears were still wet upon 
her cheeks. I laid my hand softly on her shoulder. 
She started, screamed, and woke. As she n eared 
the door I bounded forward and clutched her by the 
arm. Uttering shriek upon shriek, she sank to the 
floor. I heard the tread of footsteps on the stair. I 
replaced the razor in its usual drawer, unfastened the 
door, and called loudly for help. 

They came and placed her on the bed, where she 
lay bereft of animation for hours. She died next 
day. The old man followed her to the grave, and 
the proud brothers dropped a tear upon the insensible 
corpse of her whose sufferings they had regarded in 
her lifetime with muscles of iron. 

I was restless and disturbed, and I felt that before 
long my secret must be known. But I ground my 
teeth and struck my feet upon the ground, and drove 
my sharp nails into my hands ; and no one knew that 
I was a madman yet. I remember how I let it out 
at last though. Ha ! ha ! I think I see their frightened 
looks now ! 

Let me see : — yes, I had been out. It was late at 
night when I reached home and found the proudest of 
the three proud brothers waiting to see me. " He had a 
word to say to me." My recent dissipation, and strange 
remarks made so soon after his sister's death, were 
an insult to her memory. He wished to know whether 
he was right in inferring that I meant to cast a 
reproach upon her memory, and a disrespect upon 
her family. It was due to the uniform he wore to 
demand this explanation. His uniform ! ! A uniform 
purchased with my money and his sister's misery! ! 

I felt the madness rising within me. — " You were 
very fond of your sister when she was alive — weren't 
you ? You villain ! I've found you out ! I killed her ! 



118 READINGS, RECITATIONS, 

I'm a madman ! Down with you ! Blood ! blood ! I 
will have it ! " 

I closed with him, and with a heavy crash we 
rolled upon the floor. It was a fine struggle, that ; 
for he was a strong man righting for his life, and I a 
furious madman thirsting to destroy him. His 
struggles grew weaker, and at last I knelt upon his 
chest, and clasped his brawny throat firmly be- 
tween both hands. His face grew purple, and his 
eyes were starting from his head ; when the door was 
suddenly burst open, and a crowd of people rushed 
forward, crying aloud to each other to secure the 
madman ! 

My secret was out ; and my only struggle now was 
for liberty. I gained my feet before a hand was on 
me ; reached the door, dropped over the banisters, 
and in an instant was in the street. Straight and 
swift I ran, and no one dared stop me. I heard the 
noise of feet behind. On I bounded, through marsh 
and rivulet, over fence and wall. I was borne upon 
the arms of demons, who swept along upon the wind, 
and spun me round and round with a speed that 
made my head swim, until at last they threw me from 
them with a violent shock, and I fell heavily upon 
the earth. When I awoke, I found myself here — 
here in this gray cell, where the sunlight seldom 
conies, and the moon steals in, in rays, which only 
serve to show the dark shadows about me, and that 
silent figure in its old, old corner. — Charles Dickens. 



BEFORE AND AFTER SCHOOL. 

{Before School.) 

" Quarter to nine! Boys and girls, do you hear?" 
" One more buckwheat, then — be quick, mother dear! 
Where is my luncheon box ? " " Under the shelf, 
In the very same place you left it yourself! " 



.WD mrEnsoxATioNS. 119 

"I can't say my table !" "Oh, find me my hat!" 
"One kiss for mamma, and sweet sis in her lap." 

" Be good, dear! " "I'll try — 9 times 9's 81." 
"Here's your mittens!" "All right." "Hurry up, 

Bill ; let's run." 
Bang of the door ! they are off, girls and boys, 
And mother draws breath in the lull of their noise. 



(After School.) 

" Don't wake up the baby ! Come gently, my dear ! " 
" O mother, I've torn my new dress. Just look here ! 
I'm sorry ; I was only climbing the wall ! " 
" O mother, my map was the nicest of all !" 
"And Nelly in spelling went up to the head!" 
" O, say, can't I go out on the hill with my sled ? " 
" I've got such a toothache." " The teacher's un- 
fair!" 
" Is dinner most ready ? I'm just like a bear ! " 
Be patient, worn mother, they're growing up fast. 
These nursery whirlwinds, not long do thej^ last ; 
A still, lonely house would be far worse than noise ; 
Rejoice and be glad in your dear girls and boys. 

Rhode Island Schoolmaster. 



WOMAN AND THE ROSE. 

Fair Flora on the terrace stands 

With grace in every pose, 
Green leaves of myrtle in her hands, 

Crowned by one bright red rose. 

Of human kind what may transcend 
That maid, whose cheek red glows? 

In floral worlds, what can contend 
In beauty with the rose? 



120 HEADJNGS, RECITATIONS, 

Pre-eminent each in its way 

They traits in life expose, 
Closely allied in their display, 

This woman and the rose. 

They are both tender, sweet, and fair, 

They blush as they disclose — 
Woman — charms, so chaste, so rare, 

Charms so chaste, the rose. 

Two lives thus blest, by love imbued, 

One color on them glows, 
And nature stamps similitude 

On woman and the rose. 

As girlhood buds to woman grown, 

And bud to flower blows ; 
Blooms woman where most love is shown 

Most love where blooms the rose. 

Thus as they bloom man's life to cheer, 
Their summer comes and goes ; 

Though woman counts hers by the year, 
By days but counts the rose. 

In their decay one germ remains, 

The source of all their woes ; 
In woman this the face explains, 

In fading, this the rose. 

And when at last life's race is run, 

Funereal rites impose 
Sad tributes to and from each one — 

The woman and the rose. 

How fitting then in death's dark trust 
One grave should o'er them close, 

And there should mingle the sweet dust 
Of woman and the rose. 

James Stewart, 



AND IMPERSONATIONS. 121 

TWICKENHAM FERRY. 

" O-hoi-ye-ho ! Ho-ye-ho ! Who's for the ferry? 
The briar's in bud, the sun's going down, 
And I'll row ye so swift, and I'll row ye so steady, 
And 'tis but a mile to Twickenham Town." 

The ferryman's slim, and the ferryman's young, 
And he's just a soft twang in the turn of his tongue, 
And he's fresh as a pippin, and brown as a berry 
And 'tis but a penny to Twickenham Town. 

" O-hoi-ye-ho ! Ho-ye-ho ! I'm for the ferry ! 
The briar's in bud ; the sun's going down, 
And it's late as it is, and I haven't a penny, 
Oh ! how shall I get me to Twickenham Town ? " 

She'd a rose in her bonnet, and oh, she looked sweet 
As the little pink flower that grows in the wheat, 
With her cheeks like a rose, and her lips like a cherry, 
" And sure and you're welcome to Twickenham 
Town." 

" O-hoi-ye-ho ! Ho-ye-ho ! I'm for the ferry ! " 
"Aha ! But the briar's in bud, the sun's going down, 
You're too late for the Ferry." 

And he's not rowing swift, and he's not rowing stead)'', 
You'd think 'twas a journey to Twickenham Town. 

"Oho — and oho ! " "Ha ! ha ! you may call as you* will; 
The moon is arising on Petersham Hill, 
But with love like a rose in the stern of the wherry 
There's danger in crossing to Twickenham Town." 



ROBIN. 

{Prize Recitation, Jan. 18S9. N. Mo. State Nownal) 
Sell old Robin, did you say? 



Well, I reckon not to-day. 



122 READINGS, RECITATIONS, 

I have let you have jowv way 

With the meadows and the fallows ; 

Draining swamps, and filling hollows ; 

And you're mighty deep, Don Alvoord, 

But the sea itself has shallows ; 

And there are some things you don't know. 

No, you're not so green, of course, 

As to feed a worn-out horse 

Out of pity and remorse, very long. 

But as long as I am master 

Of a bit of shed or pasture, 

Not for all the wealth of a Vanderbilt or Astor 

Would I do old Robin there, such a wrong ! 

He is old and lame, alas ! 

Don't disturb him as you pass. 

Let him lie there while he may, 

And enjoy the summer weather. 

We were young and gay together. 

It was I who rode him first. Ah, the day ! 

I was just a little chap in first coat and cap 

And I left my mother's lap at the door. 

See him start and prick his ears ! 

I believe he understands every word ! 

And once more, it may be, fancies 

He carries me, and prances, 

While my mother from the doorway, 

Follows us with happy glances. 

You may laugh, but poor old Robin 

Does he know how I used to cling and crow, 

As I rode him to and fro and around ? 

Ah, the nag you so disdain 

With scanty tail and mane 

Then was taper-limbed and glossy, 

As we rode away to school 

In the morning fresh and cool. 

One day, beside the pool, where he drank, 

Leaning on my handsome trotter, 

Glancing up across the water 



AND IMPERSONATIONS. 123 

To the judge's terraced orchard, 

Mary I spied, the judge's daughter ! 

In a frame of sunny boughs on the bank ! 

Smiling down on horse and boy ; 

Smiling down so sweet and co}', 

That I thrilled with bashful joy, as she said, 

*' Would you like to have some cherries? 

There are nice ones on this terrace, 

These are white-hearts, on this tree overhead." 

Was it Robin, more than I 

That pleased her girlish eye? 

Half I fear! 

Off she ran ; but not a great way ; — 

Black-hearts, white-hearts, sweet-hearts straightway ! 

Horse and boy were soon familiar 

With that hospitable gateway, 

And a happy fool was I for a year. 

Lord forgive an only child ! 

All the blessings on me piled 

Only helped to make me wild and perverse. 

Racing, idling, betting, tippling, 

Wasted soon my last resources. 

Father, happy in his grave, 

Praying mother could not save. 

Often Mary urged and pleaded, 

And the good judge interceded, 

Counseled, blamed, insisted, threatened. 

Tears and threats were all unheeded 

And I answered them in wrath ! 

It was done ! to old Robin's back I sprung 

And away ! no repentance, no compassion, 

On I plunged in headlong fashion, 

In a fierce, despairing passion, 

Through the blind and raging gusts, 

Mad as they. 

From bad to worse was now my game, 
My poor mother tried to shield me, 
To reclaim me, Did her best. 



124 READINGS, RECITATIONS. 

Creditors began to clamor, 
I could only lie and stammer. 
All we had was pledged for payment, 
All was sold beneath the hammer, 
Old Robin there along with the rest, 
Laughing, jeering, I stood 
Watching those who came to buy, 
I looked on, but did not falter, 
Till the last man had departed 
Leading Robin by the halter. 
Then to a lonely wood I fled 
Hating heaven and all its mercies, 
For my follies and reverses. 
There I plunged in self-abasement, 
There took refuge in self-curses. 

As I wandered home that night, 

Something far off caught my sight 

In the lane, coining to the bars to meet me. 

Some illusion sent to cheat me ? 

No. 'Twas Robin ! My old Robin, 

Dancing, whinnying to greet me, 

With a small white paper tied to his mane. 

The small missive I unstrung, 

To old Robin's neck I clung 

There I cried, and there I hung, 

While I read, in a hand I knew was Mary's, 

"One whose friendship never varies, 

Sends this gift," 

No name was signed, 

But a painted bunch of cherries, 

On the dainty note smiled instead. 

There he lies now, gaunt, and stiff of limb. 

But to her and me, the same dear old Robin. 

Never, steed, I think was fairer ! 

Still I see him the proud bearer 

Of my pardon and salvation. 

And he yet shall be a sharer in my joy. 



AND IMPERSONATIONS. 125 

It is strange, that by the time, 
I a man, and in my prime, 
He should be guilty of the crime of old age. 
But he shall have his rack and pasture, 
And some years of comfort yet, I'll engage. 
See that merry little lass tripping to and fro, 
To pick up little hands full of grass 
Which he chews? And that small urchin 
Trying to climb up? and ride him, lying? 
And as hard hearted as you, Dan. 
What? Crying are you? Well you see 
An old horse has some use, after all. 



AUNTY DOLEFUL'S VISIT TO HER SICK 
FRIEND- 

How do you do, Cornelia ? I heard you were sick 
and I thought I'd jest step in and cheer you up a 
little. My friends often say, " I'm so glad to see you, 
Aunty Doleful — you have such a flow of conversa- 
tion — and then you're so lively." " Besides," I said 
to myself as I come up them steps, " perhaps it's the 
last time I shall ever see Cornelia Jane alive." 

You don't mean to die yet, eh? Well, now, how 
do you know? You think you're a getting better? 
Yes, but there was poor Mrs. Jones a sitting up and 
everybody a saying how smart she was, when all 
of a sudden 'she was seized with a pain in her heart 
and went off like a flash. 

But you must be very quiet and not get anxious 
or excited about anything. Of course things can't 
go on jest the same as if you was downstairs, and I 
wondered to myself as I come along if you knew 
that your little Sammy was a sailing around in a tub 
on the mill-pond, and that your little Tommy was 
a letting your little Jimmie down from the veranda 
roof in a clothes basket ? Why, what is the matter, 
Cornelia? Oh, don't worry about the children; I 
guess Providence will take care of 'em. You thought 



126 READINGS, RECITATIONS, 

Bridget was a watching 'em? Well, no, she isn't. 
I saw her out at the back gate, as I come along, a 
talking to a man. He looked to me like a burglar. 
I've no doubt but she'll let him take the impression 
of the door key in wax and then he'll get in and 
murder you all, Cornelia. There was a whole family 
murdered down to Kobble Hill last week for fifty 
dollars. 

Don't fidget so, Cornelia. It'll be bad for the baby. 
Poor little dear — come to Aunty Doleful. Poor 
little dear ! How strange it is, to be sure, that you 
can't ever tell at this age, whether a child is going 
to be deaf and dumb or a cripple. It might be all, 
and you'd never know it. But them as have got 
their senses don't make good use of 'em, that ought 
to be your comfort, Cornelia, if it does turn out to 
have anything dredful the matter with it. The wost 
thing I see about the child, Cornelia, is its red head, 
for of course now it'll have an awful temper and may 
get hung some day. Poor little dear! 

Well I reckon I'd better be a going now, Cornelia, 
I have another sick friend and I shan't feel that my 
duty's done till I call and cheer her up a little. 
What? Do stay a little while longer? Well yes, 
if it's any comfort to } t ou, Cornelia. 

Oh, } T es ! I was about to forget to ask about your 
husband's health. Well, but finds it pretty warm in 
the city, heh f Well, I'd suppose he would. Why, do 
you know that they are jest a drappin' down there 
every day by the hundreds with sunstroke? You 
must be prepared to have him brought home to you 
any day. Anyway, a trav'lin' back and forth as he 
does on them railway trains is jest a triflin' with 
danger. Dear me, what dreadful things is forever 
hanging over us. 

Scarlet fever's broken out in the village, Cornelia. 
Little Isaac Potter has it, and I saw your little 
Sammy a playing with him last Saturday. W"ell, 
really, I must be a going now. Why, what is the 
matter, Cornelia? You don't look as well as you did 



AND IMPERSONATIONS. 127 

when T first come in. I don't believe you have a 
good doctor. Do send him away and get somebody 
else. Good-bye, Cornelia, if anything happens just 
send for me immediately. If I can't do anything 
else, I can help lay you out. — Dallas. 



A LEGEND OF MARTHA'S VINEYARD. 

Once rambling through the quaint old town, 

I found some records musty, 
And traced a half-forgotten tale 

On pages dim and dusty. 
The simple story touched my heart, 

Its loyal pulses swelling, 
And lingered in my thoughts until 

I felt it worth the telling. 

'Twas in those dark and troubled days 

When future good discerning, 
Our fathers bore the rebel brand, 

A servile safety spurning. 
The people of this little isle, 

Were staunch as they were steady, 
Theirs was the patriot's fearless trust, 

And courage always ready. 

But times as yet were sad and dark, 

A night uncheered by morning, 
And British strength its triumphs won, 

Their best endeavors scorning. 
One wintry day an English ship 

By stress of tempest driven, 
Sought shelter there, a sorry sight, 

Her towering mainmast riven. 

Shoreward the captain turned his 
Perplexed — well-nigh despairing — 

And saw a flag-staff on the green 
The stars and stripes upbearing. 



128 READINGS, RECITATIONS. 

A smile replaced his thoughtful frown; 

" Ho, lads ! yon stick we'll borrow ; 
That Yankee pole shall serve King George 

Before this time to-morrow ! " 

Later he stood upon the green, 

And, careless of resistance, 
The townsfolk heard him broach his plans 

With insolent insistance. 
Foremost among the little crowd 

That grew and gathered near him, 
Three school-girls stood with flashing eyes 

And crimson cheeks, to hear him. 

And when, at last, they turned away, 

Each fair young face was wearing 
A look of stern resolve, while low 

They whispered words of daring. 
If in their homes that night the girls 

Were chid for absent seeming, 
None guessed what weighty secrets filled 

The hearts unuse4 to scheming. 

'Twas midnight, and the little town 

All tranquilly lay sleeping, 
When through the silence and the gloom 

Three slender forms went creeping. 
Some breathless moments — they had gained 

The flagstaff — then shone brightly 
Their keen-edged axes, while their strokes 

Fell fast and thick, if lightly. 

Some words of cheer and hope they spake 

To spur their strength so slender, 
Then plied their hard, unwonted task, 

Those heroines brave as tender. 
Soon louder rang their strokes and words 

Till tears with laughter blending, 
They saw the shapely flag-staff fall, 

Hewed, hacked, beyond all mending, 



ANT) ntPERSONATIONS. 129 

Then, for the dawn was breaking fast, 

They fled, too happy-hearted, 
To heed the sting of muscles strained, 

Or palms that bled and smarted. 
But one turned back to gather up 

With almost reverent maimer, 
And kindling look, the flag she loved — 

The striped and starry banner. 

The morning sun displayed their work — 

Amazed, the early risers 
Looked on, and praised the ready thought 

That baffled all surmisers. 
Fierce was the English captain's wrath, 

And bitter his reviling, 
While half the town stood grouped around, 

Nor cared to hide their smiling. 

Their island held no other stick 

Of timber for his using, 
And so with merry scorn they met 

His anger and abusing. 
The youthful heroines of the day? 

Their courage long was vaunted, 
While friends and kinsfolk far and near 

Their praises fondly chanted. 

Alas, for fame! their very names 

Have mouldered past retracing, 
The time-worn record notes their deed, 

Then stops — all else effacing. 
Blazoned on no historic page, 

They lack the patriot's glory, 
Unless these humble lines may serve 

To keep alive their story. 

Corbett. 



J30 READINGS, BECITATIONS, 

KING OF CANDY-LAND. 

I had such a lovely dream last night, it was truly so 

fine and grand ; 
I thought I was king, all alone by myself, of a land 

called Candy-Land ! 
I dwelt in the great lemon cocoanut walls of a palace 

just to my taste ; 
With its furniture made out of all things nice from 

taffy to jujube paste. 

With rarest of candies at every turn, obedient slaves 

would wait, 
And my throne was studded with peppermint drops 

and carved out of chocolate, 
And O, 'twas such fun as I wandered through those 

beautiful rooms alone, 
To bite off a morsel of sofa or chair, or nibble a bit 

of throne. 

Youths' Companion. 



I LOVE, YOU LOVE. 

Old Jones, the village pedagogue, the grammar lesson 
called one day, 

Young Bess, a maid of sweet sixteen, began the well- 
known words to say : 

" First person I love," first she said, sly Tom beside 
her whispered, " me ? " 

" Second person you love," Bess went on, " aye, that 
I do," said Tom, "love thee." 

" Third person he loves," still said Bess. Tom whis- 
pered, " Who's he ?" 

" Oh ! Tom " said Bessie, pleading low, " do hold your 
peace and let me be ! " 

" No whispering ! " called the master loud, and frowned 
upon the forward youth, 

"First person we love," Bessie said. "By George," 
Tom whispered, " that's the truth." 



AXb tAtPEkSONATIOWS. 131 

The lesson o'er at last, poor Bess with cheeks all 

crimson took her seat, 
While Tom, sly fellow, tried in vain the maiden's 

soft blue eyes to meet ; 
And when the recess hour was come, Tom becered a 

... . oo 

walk with coaxing tone, 
And 'neath, the trees, Bess said again the lesson o'er — 
for him alone. 

THE PROVINCE OF HISTORY. 

The concluding paragraphs of a historical work 
may well be brief and simple. It is not permitted to 
the writer of history to moralize at length upon the 
events which are sketched by his pen. He is for- 
bidden to conjecture, to imagine, to dream. He has 
learned, albeit against his will, to moderate his en- 
thusiasm, to curb his fancy, to be humble in the pres- 
ence of facts. To him the scenery on the shore of the 
stream that bears him onward — tall trees and giant 
rocks — must pass but half observed, and for him the 
sun and the south wind strive in vain to make entic- 
ing pictures on the playful eddies of human thought. 
None the less, he may occasionally pause to reflect; 
he may ever and anon throw out an honest deduction 
drawn from the events upon which his attention has 
been fixed. Particularly is this true when he has 
come to the end. 

All of a sudden he anchors in the bay of the present, 
and realizes that his voyage is done. In such a 
moment there is a natural reversion of the thought 
from its long and devious track across the fields, 
valleys, and wastes of the past, and a strong dispo- 
sition to educe some lesson from the events which he 
has recorded. The first and most general truth in 
history is that men ought to be free. If happiness 
is the end of human race, then freedom is its con- 
dition. And this freedom is not to be a kind of half- 
escape from thraldom and tyranny, but ample and 
absolute. The emancipation in order to be emanci- 



132 HEADINGS, RECITATIONS, 

pat ion at all, must be complete. To the historian it 
must ever appear strange that men have been so dis- 
trustful of this central principle in the philosophy of 
human history. The greatest fallacy with which the 
human intellect has ever been beguiled, is that the 
present has conceded to men all the freedom which 
they are fit to enjoy. On the contraiy, no age has 
done so. Every age has been a Czar, and every re- 
former is threatened with Siberia. Nevertheless, in 
the face of all this baleful opposition and fierce hos- 
tility to the forward and freedom-seeking movement 
of the race, the fact remains that to be free is the 
prime condition of all the greatness, wisdom, and hap- 
piness in the world. Whatever force, therefore, con- 
tributes to widen the limits which timid fear or sel- 
fish despotism has set as the thus-far of freedom is a 
civilizing force and deserves to be augmented by the 
individual will and personal endeavor of every lover 
of mankind; and on the other hand, every force 
which tends to fix around the teeming brains and 
restless activities of men one of those so called neces- 
sary barriers to their progress and ambition, is a force 
of barbarism and cruelty, meriting the relentless an- 
tagonism of every well-wisher of his kind. Let it be 
remembered, then, that the battle is not yet ended, 
the victory not yet won. The present is relatively 
— not absolutely, thanks to the great warriors of hu- 
manity — as much the victim of the enslaving forces 
as was the past ; and it is the duty of the philan- 
thropist, the sage, the statesman, to give the best of 
his life and genius to the work of breaking down, and 
not imposing, those bulwarks and barriers which super- 
stition and conservatism have reared as the ramparts 
of civilization, and for which an enlightened people 
have no more need than for the Chinese wall. 

Of all things that are incidentally needed to usher 
in the promised democracy and brotherhood of man — 
the coming new era of enlightenment and peace — 
one of the most essential is toleration. It is a thing 
which the world has never yet enjoyed — is just now 



AND IMPERSONATIONS. 133 

beginning to enjoy. Almost every page of the 
ancient and mediaeval history of mankind has been 
made bloody with some form of intolerance. Until 
the present day the baleful shadow of this sin against 
humanity has been upon the world. The proscriptive 
vices of the Middle Age have flowed down with the 
blood of the race and tainted the life that now is 
with a suspicion and distrust of freedom. Liberty 
in the minds of men has meant the privilege of 
agreeing with the majority. Men have desired free 
thought, but fear has stood at the door. It remains 
for the present to build a highway, broad and free, 
into every field of liberal inquiry, and to make the 
poorest of men who walks therein more secure in 
life and reputation than the soldier who sleeps 
behind the rampart. Proscription has no part nor 
lot in the modern government of the world. The 
stake, the gibbet, and the rack, thumbscrews, swords, 
and pillory have no place among the machinery of 
civilization. Nature is diversified ; so are human 
faculties, beliefs, and practices. Essential freedom 
is the right to differ, and that right must be sacredly 
respected. Nor must the privilege of dissent be 
conceded witli coldness and disdain, but openly, cor- 
dially, and with good will. No loss of rank, abate- 
ment of character, or ostracism from society must 
darken the pathway of the humblest of the seekers 
after truth. The right of free thought, free inquiry, 
and free speech to all men everywhere is as clear as 
the noonday and bounteous as the air and the sea. 
May the day soon dawn when every land, from 
Orient to Occident, from pole to pole, from mountain 
to shore, and from shore to the farthest island of the 
sounding sea, shall feel the glad sunshine of freedom 
in its breast; and when the people of all climes, 
arising at last from the heavy slumbers and barba- 
rous dreams which have so long haunted the be- 
nighted minds of men, shall join in glad acclaim to 
usher in the Golden Era of Humanity and the uni- 
versal Monarchy of Man \—Rldpath. 



J 04 HEADINGS, RECITATIONS, 

LOOK NOT UPON THE WINE WHEN IT 
IS RED. 

A wreck of humanity, tattered and torn, 

Close by the wayside was sitting forlorn ; 

The demon of drunkenness had left its trace, 

On a withered and wrinkled though once handsome 

face. 
Life's lamp flickered faintly and with fitful flame ; 
His breath with an effort of agony came, 
Yet he spake, " Ere I die let me this warning give, 
Young man, look at me ! Shun the tempter and 

live." 

" It was Christmas," he said, " I remember it well, 
I took the first steps in the pathway to hell. 
Oh! would that 1 never had seen that sad day, 
Or the beautiful temptress that led me astray ! 
'Twas Christmas ! ah, yes ! And her board loaded 

down 
With choicest of viands, befitting a crown. 
The fair one with smile on her radiant face, 
While every movement was beauty and grace, 

" With jeweled hand filled the cup with red wine 
Saying, ' Drink to my health in this juice of the 

vine. 
Yes, drink ; it is nectar, 'tis pure, it is old, 
Each drop in the goblet is worth so much gold.' 
I was no more than mortal, resistance was vain, 
I drank the sweet draught and filled it again. 
My brain was on fire, as I filled it once more, 
Then reeling and stag'ring I passed from her door. 

" Now, on to destruction I wandered away 
Drinking deep of the poison by night and by day, 
Till my fortune had faded : my friends were all gone, 
And left but the wreck that you see, all alone. 
The demon is dragging me down to my doom, 
And in the hereafter where, where is my home ? 



AND HI PERSONATIONS. 135 

I'm going, I know it, the cold hand I feel, 

On my brow death already has set his dark seal." 

A struggle, a groan, then his soul took its flight 
From the cares of this world to eternity's night, 
Oh, fair one, remember ; one, one thoughtless move 
The wreck of a life, of a soul may yet prove, 
Oh, raise not a beacon ; let no straggling ray 
Lure one from the path of true virtue away. 
Know this ; that if ever you tempt one with wine, 
That much of thy poor victim's guilt will be 
thine. 

L. R. Phelps. 

THE CHEAP JACK. 

I am a Cheap Jack. My father was one before 
me. So, being raised to the business, I fancy I know 
pretty well what the ups and downs of a Cheap 
Jack's life are. And it's my opinion there are more 
downs than ups. 

But I must tell you that I courted m}' wife from 
the foot-board of the cart. I did indeed. She was 
a Suffolk young woman, and it was in Ipswich mar- 
ket-place right opposite the corn-chandler's shop. I 
had noticed her up at the window. I had took to 
her, and I had said to myself, " If not already dis- 
posed of, I think I'll have that lot." So the next 
Saturday that came round, I pitched the cart on the 
same pitch, and I was in very high feather indeed, 
keeping 'em laughing the whole of the time and get- 
ting off the goods briskly. At last I took out of 
my waistcoat pocket a small lot wrapped in soft paper, 
and I put it this way — looking up at the window 
where she was: "Nowhere, my blooming English 
maidens, is an article, the last article of the present 
evening's sale, which I offer to only you, the lovely 
Suffolk Dumplings biling over with beauty. And I 
won't take a bid of a thousand pounds for it from 
any man alive. 



136 READINGS, RECITATIONS, 

Now what is it? Why, I'll tell you what it is. 
It's made of fine gold, and it's not broke, though 
there's a hole in the middle, and it's stronger than 
any fetter that ever was forged, though it's smaller 
than any finger in my set of ten. Now what else is 
it? Why, it's a wedding ring. Now I'll tell you 
what I'm going to do with it. I'm not going to 
offer this lot for money ; but I mean to give it to the 
next of you beauties that laughs, and I'll pay her a 
visit to-morrow morning at exactly half-past nine 
o'clock as the chimes go, and I'll take her out for a 
walk to put up the banns. She laughed and got the 
ring handed up straightway. And when I called in 
the morning, she says, " O dear ! It's never you, and 
you never meant it ? " " It's ever me," says I, " and I'm 
ever yours, and I ever mean it." So we got married, 
after being put up three times, — which, by the bye, 
is quite in the Cheap Jack way again, and shows 
once more how the Cheap Jack customs pervade 
society. 

Well, she wasn't a bad wife, but she had a temper. 
If she could have parted with that one article at a 
sacrifice, I wouldn't have swopped her away for any 
other woman in England. Not that I ever did 
swop her away, for we lived together till she died, 
and that was thirteen years. Now my lords and 
ladies and gentle folks all, I'll let you into a secret, 
though you won't believe it. Thirteen year of tem- 
per in a palace would try the worst of you ; but 
thirteen year of temper in a cart would try the best 
of you. You are kept so very close to it in a cart, 
you see. There's thousands of couples among you 
getting on like sweet ile upon a whetstone in houses 
of four, five, and six apartments, that would go to 
the Divorce Court in a cart. Whether the jolting 
makes it worse, I don't undertake to decide ; but in 
a cart it does come home to you, and stick to you. 
Wiolence in a cart is so wiolent, and aggrawation in a 
cart is so aggrawating. 



AND IMPERSONATIONS. 137 

We might have had such a pleasant life ! A 
room}- cart, with the large goods hung outside and 
the bed slung underneath it when on the road, an 
iron pot and a kettle, a fire place for the cold weather, 
a chimney for the smoke, a hanging shelf and a cup- 
hoard, a dog, and a horse. What more do you want? 
You draw off upon a bit of turf in a green lane or by 
the roadside, you hobble your old horse and turn him 
grazing, you light your fire upon the ashes of the 
last visitors, yon cook your stew, and you wouldn't 
call the Emperor of Germany your father. But have 
a temper in the cart, flinging hard looks, and harder 
words at you, and where are you then ? Put a name 
to your feelings. 

Why, my dog knew as well when she was on the 
turn as I did. How he knew it was a mystery to 
me ; but the sure and certain knowledge of it would 
wake him up out of his soundest sleep, and he would 
give a howl and bolt. At such times I wished I was 
him. 

The worst of it was, we had a daughter born to us, 
and I love children with all my heart. When she 
was in her furies she beat the child. This got to be 
so shocking, as the child got to be four or five year 
old, that I have many a time gone on with my whip 
over my shoulder at the old horse's head, sobbing 
and crying worse than ever little Sophy did. For 
how could I prevent it? Such a thing is not to be 
tried with such a temper — in a cart — without coming 
to a fight. It's in the natural size and formation of 
a cart to bring it to a fight. And then, if I interfered 
in the least, the poor child would get worse terrified 
than before, as well as worse hurt generally, and her 
mother would make complaints to the next people 
we lighted on, and the word would go round: 
" Here's a wretch of a Cheap Jack been a beating his 
wife." 

Little Sophy was such a brave child ! She grew 
to be quite devoted to her poor father, though he 
could do so little to help her. She had a wonderful 



138 READINGS, RECITATIONS, 

quantity of shining dark hair, all curling natural 
about her. It is quite astonishing to me now that I 
didn't go tearing mad, when I used to see her run 
from her mother before the cart, and her mother 
catch her by her hair and pull her down by it and 
beat her. 

Such a brave child I said she was ! ah ! with rea- 
son. " Don't you mind next time, father dear," she 
would whisper to me with her little face still flushed 
and her bright eyes still wet ; " if I don't cry out, 
you may know I'm not much hurt. And even if I 
do cry out, it will only be to get mother to let go 
and leave off." 

Yet in other respects her mother took great care of 
her. Her clothes were always neat and clean, and 
her mother was never tired of working at them. Such 
is the inconsistency of things. Our being down in 
the marsh country in unhealthy weather, I consider 
the cause of little Sophy's taking bad low fever; 
however, she took it, and once she got it she turned 
away from her mother forever more. Whenever 
her mother came near her, she would shiver and say, 
" No, no, no," and would hide her face on my shoulder, 
and hold me tighter round the neck. 

The Cheap Jack business had been worse than ever 
I had known it, and I was run dry of money, for 
which reason, one night at that period of little 
Sophy's being so bad, either we must have come to a 
dead-lock for victuals and drink, or I must have 
pitched the cart, as I did. 

I could not get the dear child to lie down or leave 
go of me for one moment, and indeed I hadn't the 
heart to try, so I stepped out on the foot-board with 
her holding round my neck. They all set up a laugh 
when they see us, and one chuckle Joskin — that I 
hated for it — made the bidding, " tuppence for her !" 

" Now, you country boobies," says I — feeling as if 
my heart would break — " I give you fair warning 
that I'm a going to charm the money right out of 
your pockets. And why ? Because I sell my goods 



AND IMPEIISOXATIONS. 139 

for seventy-five per cent less than I give for 'em 
Now, let's know what you want to-night and you. 
shall have it. But first of all, shall I tell you why I 
have got this little girl around my neck? You don't 
want to know? Then you shall. She belongs to 
the fairies. She's a fortune-teller. She can tell me 
all about you in a whisper, and can put me up to 
whether you're going to buy a lot or leave it. Now, 
do you want a saw? No, she says you don't; 
because you're too clumsy to use one. Else here's 
a saw that would be a lifelong blessing to a handy at 
four shillings — four shillings — at three and six — 
going at three and six — at three — at two and six — 
two and six — two and six. But none of you shall 
have it at any price, on account of your well-known 
awkwardness, which would make it manslaughter. 
Now I'm a going to ask her what you do want. Then 
I whispered, "Your head burns so that I am afraid 
it hurts you bad, my pet," and she answered without 
opening her heavy eyes, " just a little, father." 

" Oh ! this little fortune-teller says its a memoran- 
dum book you want. Then wy didn't you mention 
it? Here it is. Look at it. Two hundred superfine, 
hot-pressed, wire-wove pages — if you don't believe 
me count 'em — ready ruled for your expenses — an 
everlastingly pointed pencil to put 'em down with, a 
double bladed pen-knife to scratch 'em out with, a 
book of printed tables to calculate your income with, 
and a camp-stool to sit down upon while you give 
your mind to it! Stop! and an umbrella to keep 
the moon off when you give your mind to it on a 
pitch-dark night. Now I won't ask you how much 
for the lot, but how little. How little are you think- 
ing of? Don't be ashamed to mention it because my 
fortune-teller knows already." 

Then making believe to whisper, I kissed her and 
she kissed me. 

" Why, she saj's, you're thinking of as little as 
three and threepence. With an income of forty 
thousand a year — you grudge three and sixpence. 



140 READINGS, RECITATIONS, 

Well, then, I'll tell you my opinion. I so despise the 
threepence, that I'd sooner take three shillings. 
Three shillings — three shillings — going — going at 
three shillings. There! Hand 'em over to the lucky 
man." 

Just then I touched little Sophy's face and asked 
her if she felt faint or giddy. "Not very, father. It 
will all be over soon." 

Then turning from the pretty patient eyes, which 
were opened now, I went on again in my Cheap Jack 
style. "Where's the butcher?" (my sorrowful eye 
had just caught sight of a fat young butcher on the 
outside of the crowd). "She says the good luck is 
the butcher's. Where is he?" Everybody handed 
on the blushing butcher to the front, and there was 
a roar, and the butcher felt obliged to put his hand 
in his pocket and take the lot. 

Then we had another lot, the counter part of that 
one, and sold it sixpence cheaper, which was very 
mucli enjoyed. Then we had the ladies' lot — tea-pot, 
tea-caddy, half a dozen spoons, and a silver cup — and 
all the time I was making similar excuses to give a 
look and say a word or two to my poor child. It was 
while the second ladies' lot was holding 'em enchained, 
that I felt her lift herself on my shoulder to look 
across the dark street. 

" What troubles you darling ? " 

"Nothing troubles me, father. I'm not at all 
troubled. But don't I see a pretty churchyard over 
there?" 

" Yes, dear." 

" Kiss me, father. Kiss me twice, dear father, and 
lay me down to rest upon that churchyard grass, so 
soft and green." 

I staggered back into the cart with her head 
dropped on my shoulder, and I says to her mother, 
" Quick ! Shut the door ! Don't let those laughing 
people see." 

" What is the matter ? " she cries. 

"Oh, woman, woman," I tells her, "you'll never 



AND IMPERSONATIONS. 1 1 1 

catch my little Sophy by the hair again, for she has 
flown away from you !" — Charles J)ickens. 



THE MARCH OF TIME. 

Upon the golden span of to-day's bright shore we 

stand, 
And looking back through retrospection's vale, 
Visions, sad and beautiful, woven in life's fitful 

dream, before us rise. 
'Tis spring, and o'er the earth the queen of beauty 

walks ; 
Boyish footprints on the hill-side and in the vale we 

see, 
As though but yesterday they had been made. 

Fancies of youthful mirth flit before us 

With the same freshness, once so real, 

Ere from our sight they were hurried 

By the remorseless flight of time. 

A low-roofed cottage with a creeping vine peers forth, 

And down the beaten path a mother leads her boy ; 

And autumn with its " sere and yellow leaf," 

Has tinged the forest trees, and given place 

To winter stern, who holds all earth in fetters grim. 

Gone are the bright visions, leaving in their stead 
A lonely grave, and on the damp, decaying mould 
An aged form is kneeling, within whose eye 
We recognize the boy of long years ago ; 
And as the moaning winds go by, 
We catch the trembling cadence of his voice 
As he sobs out the name of — mother ! 
In one swift glance, we see how life begins 
And where the pilgrimage will end ; 
A myth, a dream, a vision, that a breath may e'en 
dissolve. 



142 HEADINGS, RECITATIONS, 

Nations by that invisible power spring up 

And people the broad universe, 

Are born and live, to droop and die, 

And generations, perchance, yet unborn, 

In future ages upon their graves may look. 

The mighty warriors that guarded once the gates of 

Thebes 
Or lined the banks of the Euphrates, 
Had for their light the same sun and moon 
And beaming stars that we do now behold ; 
And they perchance ofttimes looked back to the 

footprints, 
And upon the resting places of their kindred dust. 

Still onward sweeps the tide of years, 

Sceptres, before whose imperial sway, 

Nations paled, lie broken, empires, 

Proud cities, massive gates, and mighty walls into 

decay 
Before the resistless march of time have crumbled. 
A thousand fleets to-day ride high o'er ocean's waves, 
To-morrow a thousand ghostly wrecks bestrew the 

shore. 
Yet the chariot wheels of time roll on, 
And we still backward look o'er the desolating track 
To that which was, or let our thoughts go onward, 
Trying to peer into the unfathomable mysteries 
Of the Great Beyond, to catch 
A glimpse of that which is jet to be. 

But Time, the great leveler of all things earthly. 
Strides on, his footsteps never lag; 
Suns rise and set, and through the realms of space 
Glides the pale moon, bathing in her silvery light, 
Mountains, rivers, and plains that reflected 
Her glances when first the world began. 
Seasons come and go, nor heed the fate of man, 
But thank God, a hope, gathering strength 
From that golden promise, within our hearts 
Shines forth, whispering of a fairer land than this 



AND IMPERSONATIONS. 14* 

For those who love the Lord, 

From whence there will be no looking hack. 

W. S. Walker. 



THE CHILDREN AND THE ANGEL. 

Four playmates gathered by a rill, 

A song in concert singing, 
One crippled was, dear little Will, 

Yet happy still his pure voice ringing. 

The burden of their strain was love 
For him who blessed a little child. 

Lo ! on their vision from above, 

There sudden flashed an angel mild! 

"Dear children," low the angel spoke, 
"Each whisper me with upturned brow, 

What you would give for his sweet sake 
Were the dear Saviour present now." 

" Were all earth's richest jewels mine, 
I'd fondly give each glowing gem," 

The eldest said, " and all should shine 
On Jesus' brow for diadem." 

The next with trembling voice replied : 
" I'd wreathe his cross with fairest flowers, 

And, kneeling, kiss his wounded side 

While ' tear-drops fell like summer showers. 

"And I," said cunning little Maud, 
" Would lift my lips for him to kiss ; 

Instead of papa, I'd say : ' Dear Lord, 
Thy name may all the angels bless.' " 

The lame boy's pale, dejected face 

The angel scanned with kindling smile, 

As though his answer she might trace 
In that soulful look, it wore the while. 



144 READINGS, RECITATIONS, 

" One simple gift is all I have, 
Its merits measured not by pelf 

Baptized in prayer's all healing wave, 
I'd freely give to him — myself I " 

" O, precious one," the angel said, 
While rapture rilled her azure eye, 

" The victor's wreath shall crown thy brow 
God loveth best thy wise reply." 

Greorge B. Griffith. 



THE GRANDAME'S STORY. 

Once a poet went a-roaming, over mountain, hill 
and dale, 

And he paused before a cottage, nestling in a pleas- 
ant vale ; 

He was weary with his wandering, and he sought a 
cool retreat 

In the broad inviting shadows from the Summer's 
noontide heat. 

Where he found a group of children full of laughter 
and of glee, 

And their aged Grandame sitting 'neath a spreading 
maple tree. 

Grandma rested on the cushions folded in a rustic 
chair, 

And the shadows and the sunshine fell upon her sil- 
ver hair ; 

And the children, fair and blooming, full of graces 
rare and sweet, 

Sat upon the fragrant clover, twining garlands at 
her feet. 

All the glory of the harvest shone upon the valley 
plain, 

And in fields anear the reapers cut and bound the 
ripened grain. 



AND IMPERSONATIONS. 145 

And the clatter of the sickles, and the voices of the 
men 

Came to him like some grand anthem winding 
through the sunny glen ; 

'Twas a scene that touched his spirit with emotions 
strangely sweet, 

And he joined the children sitting at the aged Gran- 
dame's feet. 

They had talked about the harvest, he had joined 
the children's play, 

He hud told them of his travels, and of countries far- 
away. 

Then a silence fell between them, and they heard the 
sound again 

Of the sharply clanging reapers, and the voices of 
the men. 

Then the Grandame fell to musing, and the children 
ceased their play, 

For upon her gentle features an unwonted sadness lay. 

" She's thinking up a story," said a little boy at last. 

"Tell it, Grandma, tell a story ! " all the eager chil- 
dren cried ; 

" Please us, Grandame," and they clustered to her side. 

And she answered to their pleading in a voice sub- 
dued and low, 

" There's a story I will tell you of a harvest long ago 

That doth haunt me with its sadness, that returns 
with keener pain, 

When I hear them whet the sickles, when I see them 
bind the grain." 

So she wiped her misty glasses, stroked a wee head 
crowned witli gold, 

And in accents strangely tender, unto them this 
story told. 

" In a quiet, pensive valley, where the fairest sun- 
beams fell, 

Where reposed the softest shadows and the rose and 
asphodel 

10 



146 BEADING S, RECITATIONS, 

Shook their rare and dreamy sweetness to the wind 

that, glad and free, 
In their bowers sang the chorus of the wild waves by 

the sea, 
Stood a wreath-embowered cottage that was very 

fair to see 
Where in love's supreme contentment dwelt a 

family group of three. 

" Sang the wife and mother Mary at her work that 

golden morn, 
Gayly sang the sturdy reapers as they reaped the 

ripened corn ; 
And a little boy who gamboled with a lamb the door 

beside, 
To the music of their voices with his happy song 

replied. 
Often Mary at the doorway stood and gazed upon 

her boy, 
While his rare and healthful beauty filled her mother 

heart with joy. 

" Once she stood thus, fondly smiling at his sweet 
and winning grace, 

As he leaned upon the lammie, looking down into 
its face, 

With an air of stern reproving, and a threatening 
finger raised, 

While the lammie, sad and wondering, almost plead- 
ing, upward gazed, 

When at last with ringing laughter, Willie started 
to a bound, 

While the lamb with gleeful rapture chased his foot- 
steps round and round. 

"Till in looking upward, Willie saw his mother's 

smiling face, 
And with steps that rang with gladness, sprang into 

her fond embrace. 



AND IMPERSONATIONS. 147 

Just one moment there she held him. with his head 

upon her breast, 
Then she left him, crowned with kisses, with his 

mother's blessing blest. 
Busy once again at labor, all her soul was filled with 

joy, 

As she thought upon the beauty of her gentle, lovely 
boy. 

" Onward passed the day in splendor, and the glori- 
ous afternoon 

Found the heart of mother Mary humming still the 
pleasant tune, 

And the lovely little valley, lying 'neath the shelter- 
ing hill 

Seemed to her a joy forever, but the air was strangely 
still. 

Not a sound besides the twitter of the swallows 'neath 
the eaves, 

And the chanting of the reapers as they bound the 
golden sheaves. 

" Then she hasted to the doorway, cast about an eager 

look, 
O'er the lawn, and o'er the meadow, down the course 

of Willow brook, 
But no trace of boy or lammie, only butterflies and 

bees, 
And a golden robin flitting out and in among the 

trees. 
' Willie ! Willie ! Come, my darling ! ' but no 

little Willie came, 
' Willie ! Willie ! Come to mamma ! ' All was 

silent just the same. 

" ' Willie ! Willie ! Whither straying, art thou sleep- 
ing on the leaves? 

Hast thou gone to watch the reapers binding up the 
yellow sheaves ? ' 



148 READINGS, RECITATIONS, 

Fleet of foot, and wild of fancy, sped she to the 

field away, 
Asking of the startled reapers, ' Have you seen ray 

boy to-day ? ' 
' He was here and watched the binding, bound that 

tiny sheaf you see, 
Then he led the lamb a frolic, full of laughter and of 

glee.' 

" ' Then he bound a bunch of lilies, with some bearded 

heads of wheat, 
For mother Mary, and with the lannnie hastened 

home with flying feet.' 
w When was this?' the mother whispered. 'It was 

full three hours ago ; 
It was in the heat of mid-day and the sun is getting 

low.' 
' Oh my Willie ! Willie ! Willie ! where art thou? ' 

the mother cried ; 
' Ernest, father, there's the forest, yonder is the 

restless tide.' 

" And the father dropped his sickle, and the reapers 
left the grain, 

And they searched the beach and forest, calling, call- 
ing, but in vain. 

Calling, ' Willie— Willie ! ' But the forest made 
reply 

With a deeper, sadder silence to the agonizing cry. 

Then they looked amid the grasses, and they searched 
the sandy shore 

For the precious wayward footprints, looked them 
sadly o'er and o'er. 

"But they found no trace of Willie in the wood or on 
the sand 

Till at last there came a hunter bearing in his trem- 
bling hand, 

Just a bunch of withered lilies, and a dainty little 
shoe 

Soiled and wet with forest dampness, with a loosened 
string of blue. 



AND IMPERSONATIONS. 149 

He had found it in the forest, deep, and dark and 

tangled wild, 
This — the only token of the lamb or of the child. 

"So the fearful search was ended, and within the cot- 
tage lone, 

Ernest sat with mother Mary, and he did not check 
her moan. 

For the sturdy reaper's spirit trembled like an aspen 
leaf, 

He was thinking of the fingers that had bound that 
tiny sheaf, 

Rosy fingers — dainty fingers — where their waxen 
beauty now? 

" In the night the winds went moaning, and a cold and 
dreary rain 

Pierced the wild depths of the forest, swept across the 
valley plain, 

And the restless sleeping Mary, weeping as the winds 
went by, 

In the pauses of the tempest heard a plaintive plead- 
ing cry 

' Father ! father ! ' it repeated, ' father ! father ! ' o'er 
and o'er ; 

But they said it was the tempest, just the wind and 
nothing more. 

" ' Willie is in heaven, mother,' thus they said to soothe 

her pain, 
' There, and there alone, sweet Mary, shalt thou see 

thy boy again. 
Lo ! it was the gentle Shepherd found thy little 

wandering lamb, 
And He took him to His bosom.' So at last her soul 

was calm. 
Once again it was the harvest, and the silent reaper's 

reaped, 
Mother Mary at her labor sang no song, but sighed 

and wept. 



150 BEADING S, RECITATIONS, 

" When a hunter from the forest paused before the cot- 
tage door, 

Bearing in his hand a token of the boy that came no 
more. 

He had found it on the mountain, near the ruins of a 
bower 

Built of moss, and vines, and branches, that had 
bloomed with many a flower, 

Where they knew the little wanderer, weary with his 
pleading cry, 

Lay among his flowers and mosses, all alone, at last, 
to die. 



" And he brought the little token, all that now re- 
mained of him, 

Just one long and golden ringlet, twined about an 
oaken limb ; 

And they laid the golden ringlet, with a new and sad- 
der grief 

With the lilies and the slipper and the tiny wheaten 
sheaf." 

Mrs. Henry. 



THE BLIND GIRL OF CASTEL-CUILLE. 

At the foot of the mountain height 

Where is perched Castel-Cuille, 

Passed a merry company 

Of rosy village girls, 

All singing a happy strain, 

" The road should blossom, the roads should bloom, 

So fair a bride shall leave her home ! 

Should blossom and bloom with garlands gay, 

So fair a bride shall pass to-day." 



It is Baptiste and his affianced maiden 
With garlands for the bridal laden! 



AND IMPERSONATIONS. 151 

But how comes it, that among 

These youthful maidens fresh and fair, 

So joyous with such laughing air, 

Baptiste .stands sighing with silent tongue? 

And yet the bride is fair and young ! 

Oli. truly a maiden frail, I trow, 

Never bore a loftier brow. 

What ails Baptiste, what ill doth him oppress? 

It is that half way up the hill, 

In yon cot, dwelleth the blind girl still, 

Daughter of a veteran old ; 

And you must know one year ago 

That Margaret the young and tender 

Was the village pride and splendor, 

And Baptiste her lover bold, 

And for them the altar was prepared. 

But alas ! the summer's blight, 

The dread disease that none could stay, 

The pestilence that walks by night 

Took the young bride's sight away. 

All, at the father's stern command was changed 

Their peace was gone, but not their love estranged. 

Wearied at home, ere long the lover fled. 

Returned but three short days ago, 

The golden chain they round him throw, 

He is enticed, and onward led 

To marry Angela, and yet 

Is tl uniting ever of Margaret. 

Then suddenly a maiden cried 

" Here comes the cripple Jane ! " 

And by a fountain side 

A woman, bent and gray with years, 

Under the mulberry-tree appears. 

The maidens toward her run as fleet 

As had they wings upon their feet. 

It is that Jane is a soothsayer, wary and kind; 

She telleth fortunes, and none complain. 

She promises one a village swain 



152 HEADINGS, RECITATIONS, 

And another a happy wedding day, 
And all comes to pass as she avers; 
She never deceives, she never errs. 

But for this once, the village seer 

Wears a countenance severe. 

And from beneath her eyebrows thin and white, 

Her eyes flashed like cannons bright, 

She takes the young bride by the hand, 

"Thoughtless Angela, beware! lest when 

Thou weddest this false bridegroom 

Thou diggest for thyself a tomb ! " 

Saddened a moment, the bridal train 

Resumed the dance and song again. 

"The roads should blossom, the roads should bloom, 

So fair a bride shall leave her home ! 

Should blossom and bloom with garlands gay, 

So fair a bride shall pass to-day ! " 

By suffering worn and weary ; 

But beautiful as some fair angel yet, 

Thus lamented Margaret, 

In her cottage lone and dreary: 

'• He has arrived, arrived at last. 

Yet Jane has named him not these three days past. 

Arrived! Yet keeps aloof so far ! 

And knows that of my night he is the star. 

When lie is gone 'tis dark ! My soul is sad! 

I suffer ! O my God ! come make me glad ! 

Come, Baptiste! Keep the promise of that happier day 

That 1 ma}^ keep the faith to thee I plighted. 

True love, they say, in grief doth more abound ! 

What then when one is blind ? 

Who knows? Perhaps 1 am forsaken ! 

Ah ! Woe is me ! Then bear me to m}^ grave ! 

O God ! what thoughts in me waken — 

Away ! away ! he will return ! I do but rave ! 

He will return ! I need not fear ! 

He swore it by our Saviour dear. 

Some one comes ! Though blind, my heart can see ! 

And that deceives me not! 'Tis he ! 'Tis he!" 



AND IMPERSONATIONS. 1&5 

Alas! 'tis only Paul, her brother, who thus cries: 

" Angela, the bride, has passed ! 

I saw the wedding guests go by! 

Tell me, my sister, why were we not asked, 

For all are there but you and I?" 

m Angela married ! and not send 

To tell her secret unto me! 

speak! who may the bridegroom be?" 
"My sister, 'tis Baptiste, thy friend!" 

A cry she gave but nothing said, 

Milky whiteness o'er her cheeks hath spread. 

While an icy hand held her heart 

Crushed, as in a vice, away 

With a hop and a jump went Paul, 

And as he whistled along the hall 

Entered Jane, the crippled crone. 

" Holy virgin ! thou art cold ! 

Art chill as death, my little friend! 

What ails thee sweet?" "Nothing, Jane ! 

1 heard them singing home the bride 
And as I listened to the song I thought — 

Ah, leave me, Jane. I am weary and would rest." 

Jane, shuddering, her hand doth press, 

" Go pray to God that thou may'st love him less ! " 

" The more I pray the more I love ; 

It is no sin, for God is on my side." 

Now rings the bell nine times reverberating 

And the white daybreak stealing up the sky 

Sees in two cottages two maidens 

Waiting — how differently ! 

Queen of a day, by flatterers caressed 

The one puts on her cross and crown, 

Decks with a huge bouquet her breast 

Looks at herself, and cannot rest. 

The other, blind, within her little room 
Has neither crown nor flowers' perfume. 



154 HEADINGS, RECITATIONS, 

But in their stead, for something gropes apart 

That in a drawer's recess doth lie, 

And 'neath her bodice of scarlet dye 

Convulsive clasps it to her heart. 

Then kneels upon the floor and 

Whispers — " O God ! forgive me now ! " 

And then, the orphan, young and blind, 

Conducted b} r her brother's hand, 

Toward the churchyard through paths unscanned, 

With tranquil air her way doth wend. 



" Paul, lay thy noisy rattle by 

And tell me, where are we ?" 

" We've reached the church, dear Margaret, 

Come in, the bride will be here soon. 

Thou tremblest ! O my God ! Art going to swoon ! " 

And now arrives the bridal train 

And with it brings the village throng. 

In sooth, deceit maketh no mortal gay, 

For lo ! Baptiste on this gala-day, 

Mute as an idiot, sad as y ester-morning, 

Thinks only of the beldame's words of warning. 



Already the mass is said, 

Baptiste receives the wedding ring, 

Ere on the finger of the bride he leaves it 

He must pronounce one word at least ! 

'Tis spoken; and sudden at the groomsman's side, 

"'Tis he ! " a well-known voice has cried. 

And while the wedding guests all hold their breath, 

"Baptiste," she said, "since thou hast wished my 

death, 
As holy water be my blood for thee ! " 
And calmly in the air a knife suspended ! 
Doubtless her guardian angel near attended, 
For anguish did its work so well 
That ere the fatal stroke descended, 
Lifeless she fell ! 






AND IMPERSONATIONS. 155 

At eve instead of bridal verse, 

The De Profundls filled the air. 

Decked with flowers a simple hearse 

To the churchyard forth they bear; 

Village girls in robes of snow 

Follow, weeping as they go. 

Nowhere was a smile that day, no, 

Ah no ! for each one seemed to say — 

" The roads should mourn and be veiled in gloom, 

So fair a corpse shall leave its home ! 

Should mourn, and should weep, ah, well away! 

So fair a corpse shall pass to-day ! " 

Longfellow, 



HOW RUBY PLAYED THE PIANO. 

(Prize Recitation, Jan., 18S8. N. Mo. State Normal.) 

Well, sir, he had the biggest, catty-cornedest old 
pianner you ever laid eyes on ; somethin' like a dis- 
tracted billiard table on three legs. The lid was 
histed, and mighty well it was. If it hadn't been 
he'd a tore the insides clean out and scattered 'em 
to the four winds of heaven. 

Played well ? I should say he did ; but don't inter- 
rupt me. When he first sat down, he peared to keer 
mighty little 'bout play in'. He tweedle-eedled a little 
on the trebble, and troodle-oodled some on the base, 
just a foolin' and a boxin' the thing's jaws for bein' in 
his way. And I says to a man settin' next to me, says 
I : " What sort a fool playin' is that ? " And he saj's, 
" hush ! " Presently his hands commenced chasin' one 
another up and down the keys like a passel of rats 
scamperin' through a garret very swift. Parts of it 
was sweet, though, and reminded me of a sugar squir- 
rel turnin' the wheel of a candy cage. " Now," I says 
to my neighbor, " he's showin' off; he thinks he's a 
doin' of it now, but he ain't got no idee, no plan of 
nothin'. Now if he'd play me a tune of some land or 



156 READINGS, RECITATIONS, 

other, I'd — " But my neighbor says " heish," very im- 
patient. 

I was just about to git up and go home, bein' tired 
of that foolishness, when I heard a little bird wakin' 
up way off in the woods and call sleep}'-like to his 
mate, and I looked up and see that Ruby was begin- 
ning to take some interest in his business, and I sot 
down again. It was the peep of day. The light 
came faint from the East, the breezes blowed gentle 
and fresh. Some more birds waked up in the orchard, 
then some more in the trees near the house, and all 
begun singin' together. People began to stir and the 
gal opened the shutters. Just then the first beam 
of the sun fell upon the blossoms a leetle more, and 
the next thing it was broad day ; the sun fairly blazed, 
and the birds sung like they'd split their little throats ; 
all the leaves was a movin' and flashin' diamonds of 
dew, and the whole wide world was bright and happy 
as a king. It was a fine mornin' and I says to my 
neighbor, " That's music, that is ! " But he glared at 
me like he'd like to cut my throat. 

Then the sun went down, it got dark, the wind 
moaned and wept like a lost child for its dead mother, 
and I could a got up then and there, and preached a 
better sermon than any I ever listened to. There 
wasn't anything in the world left to live for, not a 
thing ! and yet I didn't want that music to stop one 
bit. It was happier to be miserable than to be happy 
without being miserable. 

Then all of a sudden old Ruben changed his tune. 
He ripped and he rared, he tipped and he tared, he 
pranced and he charged like a grand entry at a cir- 
cus. 'Peared to me that all the gas in the house was 
turned on at once, things got so bright and I hilt up 
my head ready to look any man in the face and not 
afraid of nothin'. It was a circus and a brass band 
and a big ball all goin' on at once. He lit into them 
keys like a thousand of bricks ; he gave 'em no rest 
day or night ; he set every livin' joint in me a goin' 
and not bein' able to stand it no longer, I jumped 



AND IMPEItSONATIONS. lo7 

sprang onto my seat, and just hollered: "G-o it 
Rube!" 

Every woman, man, and child in that house riz on 
me and shouted, "Put him out! Put him out! put 
him out ! " " Put your great grandmother's grizzly 
gray greenish cat into the middle of next month! " 
says I. " Tech me if }*ou dare ; 1 paid my money 
and you just come anigh me ! " I would a fit any fool 
that laid hands on me, for I was bound to hear Ruben 
out, now, or die. 

He had changed his tune again. He hop-light 
ladies, and he tip-toed fine from end to end of the 
key-board. He played soft and low and solemn. I 
heard the church bells over the hills. The great 
organ of eternity began to play from the world's 
end to the world's end and all the angels went to 
prayers. Then the music changed to water full of 
feeling that couldn't be thought and began to drop- 
drip, drop-drip, like tears of joy falling into a lake of 
glory. Oh, it was sweeter than that. It was as 
sweet as a sweetheart sweetened with white sugar, 
mixed with powdered silver and seed-diamonds. I 
tell you that audience cheered. Ruben lie kinder 
bowed like he wanted to say : " much obleeged, but 
I'd rather you wouldn't interrupt." 

He stopped a moment or two to ketch breath. 
Then he got mad. He run his fingers through his 
hair, he shoved up his coat sleeves, he drug up his 
stool, he leaned over, and sir, he just went for that 
old pianner. He slapped her face, he boxed her jaws, 
he pulled her nose, and he scratched her cheeks until 
she fairly yelled. He knocked her down and 
stamped on her shameful, and then he wouldn't let 
her up. He ran a quarter stretch down the low 
grounds of the base, till he got clean into the bowels 
of the earth, and you heard thunder galloping after 
thunder through the hollows and caves of perdition. 
And then he fox-chased his right hand with the left 
till he got clean out of the trible into the clouds, 
whar the notes is finer than the pints of cambric 



158 READINGS, RECITATIONS, 

needles and you couldn't hear no thin' but the shaders 
of 'em, and then he wouldn't let her go. He forward 
two'd, he crost over first gentleman, he chassade right 
and left back to your place, all hands around, back 
and forth, up and down, turned and tacked and tan- 
gled into forty -eleven thousand double bow-knots. 

And then he wouldn't let her go. He fetcht up 
his right wing, he fetcht up his left wing, he fetcht up 
his reserve, he fetcht up his center. He fired by file, 
by platoons, by regiments and brigades. He opened 
his cannon-siege guns down thar. Napoleons here- 
twelve pounders yonder, big guns, little guns, middle- 
sized guns, mines and magazines, battery and bomb 
all a goin' at the same time. The house trembled, the 
lights danced, the walls shuk, the floor come up, the 
ceilin' come down, the sky split, the ground rocked. 
Heavens and earth ! creation ! sweet potatoes ! 
Moses! Roodle-oodle-oodle-oodle — ruddle-uddle-uddle 
-uddle — raddle-addle-addle-addle — riddle-iddle-iddle- 
iddle — reedle-eedle-eedle-eedle p-r-r-rlang ! bang ! 
lang ! perlang ! p-r-r-r-rlang ! Bang ! ! ! With that 
bang he lifted himself bodily into the air, and come 
down with his knees, his ten fingers, his ten toes, his 
elbows and his nose strikin' every single solitary key 
on that pianner at the same time. The thing busted 
and went off into seventeen hundred and fifty-seven 
thousand five hundred and forty-two hemi-demi-semi- 
quivers, aud I know'd no more. 



NAPOLEON. 

From the rock rudely rent by the billows' commotion 
The haunt of the sea bird and home of the gale, 
In glory bear forth o'er the waves of the ocean, 
The hero who spoke and the nations turned pale. 
Though hard was his fortune and mournful his story, 
His fame shall beam brighter as time rolls away, 
While the star, that keeps watch o'er the altar of glory, 
Shall shed on his column his ne'er dying ray. 



AND IMPERSONATIONS. 159 

Then bear him in pride with his death mantle o'er him, 
And lay him to rest at the foot of Vendome. 
Wave the banners of nations in triumph before him, 
And welcome the dust of the mighty one home, 
Though Moscow and Waterloo tarnish his splendor, 
Still Jena, and Praga and Lodi remain, 
And the eternal Alps shall forever remember, 
How o'er them 'mid tempests he swept with his train 

He spoke and the thrones of the kingdoms were 

shaken ; 
He raised his right arm and the mightiest quailed ; 
He was vanquished and far on a lone isle forsaken ; 
'Mid foemen he died while his countrymen wailed. 
Then bear him in pride with his death mantle o'er him, 
And lay him to rest at the foot of Vendome, 
Wave the banners of nations in triumph before him, 
And welcome the dust of Napoleon home. 

" Head of the army ! " he cried in his last dying 
vision, 

While fancjr his eagles waved round him again, 

Then passed to the judgment the soul of Ambition, 

And a grave held what Europe could scarcely con- 
tain. 

Weep, Frenchman, in sorrow, who left him to perish ! 

Weep blood for the hero who gave thee a name ; 

In thy breast the proud deeds of the valiant one 
cherish, 

Whose exile forever shall trumpet thy shame. 

Then bear him in pride with his death mantle o'er 

him, 
And lay him to rest at the foot of Vendome, 
Wave Austerlitz's banner in triumph before him, 
And welcome this dust of Napoleon home. 
Mortality ! frail are the glories that linger, 
Around thy brave sons when the death pall is spread. 
Time, time rudely blots with his unsparing finger, 
The tablet that blazons the deeds of the dead. 



160 BEADING S, RECITATIONS, 

Then adieu to the grave 'neath the broad waving 

willow, 
Adieu to the prison isle's tempest crowned steeps, 
In the heart of his country pile up his last pillow, 
Where the trophies he won shall declare where he 

sleeps. 
Yes ; bear him in pride with his death mantle o'er 

him, 
And lay him to rest at the foot of Vendome, 
Where the soldiers he cherished can fall down before 

him, 
And welcome the death conquered conqueror home. 



THE GOSPEL HARPOON. 

A sailor who had just returned from a whaling 
voyage was taken by a friend to hear an eloquent 
preacher. When they came out of the church, the 
friend said : " Jack, wasn't that a fine sermon ? " 

" Yes — it was. Ship-shape. The water lines were 
graceful, the masts raked just high enough. The 
sails and riggings were all right. But 1 didn't see any 
harpoons. When a vessel goes on a whaling voyage, 
the main thing is to get the whales. But they don't 
come to you, because you have a fine ship, you must 
go after them and harpoon them. Now it seems to 
me that a preacher is a whale man. He is sent not 
to interest and amuse the fish by sailing among them, 
but to catch them. Jesus said to his disciples, ' I 
will make you fishers of men.' Now how many ser- 
mons like that do you thinK it would take to convict 
a sinner and make him cry out, ' What must I do to 
be saved ? ' *' 

The friend said, "But, Jack, people now-a-days 
don't like to be harpooned. They want to be interested 
intellectually in the truth. They like to listen to 
such expositions and illustrations as the Doctor gave 
us this morning. Did you not see how attentive they 



ANT) TMPERSONATIQNS. 101 

were? Surely ii isa grand thing to attract such an 
audience to hear the gospel." 

" To hear about the gospel, you mean. Now, I don't 
object to the Doctor's exposition and illustrations. As 
I said before they were all ship-shape ; but the trouble 
was, when we sailed to the fishing ground, and the 
whales had all gracefully come to the surface, instead 
of manning the boats and striking for a haul, he made 
a polite bow and appeared to say : ' I am very glad 
to see so many whales. I must not do anything to 
hurt or frighten them ; hope they will all admire my 
ship and come again on my next voyage.' 

" Do you think a ship-owner would send such a cap- 
tain to Behring Sea a second time ? ftead in Acts 
the report of Peter's first gospel sermon. He begins 
with an able exposition of Old Testament prophesies 
in regard to the incarnation and resurrection of Christ 
and the out-pouring of the spirit, and then when he 
had gained the attention of the crowd, he charged 
home upon them with the words of Jesus, ' whom ye 
have crucified ! ' That was hurling a harpoon. And 
we are told that it was effective. They were pricked 
to their hearts, and the gospel catch that day was 
three thousands souls. No, no ! A sightly ship and 
staunch boat are well enough in their place, but they 
will be of little practical value to the gospel fisher- 
man unless lie is liberally supplied with harpoons and 
has the courage to wield them. 

" It is all right to polish your harpoon, the more 
polished the better! But after all it is not the polish 
but the harpoon that does the work. If the whale- 
men fail in that, the whole voyage and venture is a 
failure, and I cannot but think it the same with the 
preaching." — Homiletio Review. 



162 HEADINGS, RECITATIONS, 



INASMUCH. 

It was a rural school-house — old in sheltered nook, 
The time, the noon recess. 

The ruder sex with ball and bat and wild huzza, 
Sent forth their boisterous glee, whilst with an equal 

zest, 
The gentler girls their leisure spent in quiet sports. 
From out the senior class of five, four lovely girls, 
Who fast were budding into woman's fair estate, 
Had each about her grouped a knot of little ones, 
Seeking to give them joy. Dear Docia just from town, 
Had brought a store of goods to dress their waxen 

dolls. 
And, while she sewed a gown, or tied a ribbon bow, 
No other drop was needed in the cup of bliss, 
Full quaffed by happy hearts. And gleesome Kitty 

too, 
Her cortege bound with skipping rope and laughter 

loud ; 
And yet their noisy fun ne'er reached staid Hannah's 

ear, 
Who, prisoned willing in one corner of the yard, 
Fast chained her eager captors with sweet fairy tales. 
The other of the class of five, repulsive Ruth, 
Deformed and sensitive, unloving and unloved, 
Sad and discontented upon the door-sill crouched ; 
Her hated crutches leaning 'gainst the outer wall, 
Her burning cheek hard on the mouldy door frame 

pressed, 
And scalding tears fast raining o'er her folded hands. 
"Ah me !" she murmured low, "had I but Docia's 

wealth, 
Or Kitty's agile limbs and gushing spirits, 
Or Grace's beauty fair, or Hannah's unexhausted store 
Of elfin love, I too might win from childish hearts, 
Some boon of love to gild with warmth my frozen life, 
'Tis selfish craving love without the giving love, 
For teacher often says — and he's always right — 



AND IMPERSONATIONS. 103 

' This sell must surely love itself in others' weal, 

If we would win affections great, or love would feel.' 

But what can Ruth, the cripple, do, save weep the fate 

That made her so? Ah, me ! " 

A scream, then a smothered sob, here 

Broke the murmurs, and there came a whisper low. 

" Please may I sit upon the step, and let you try 

To pull this briar from my foot? I will not cry." 

" Tins (nice, 111 try," thought Ruth, " what loving 

deeds can do. 
I will not pluck the thorn, then coldly push her off, 
But will to little motherless outcast soft caresses give : 
Perhaps, though love may not be shed on crippled 

form 
A cripple's heart may have the Master's smile." 
She softly raised the sobbing child ; 
And from her swollen foot the piercing briar drew, 
And as she kissed the pearl drops from the pallid face, 
An unknown joy through all her inner being thrilled. 
Ere long the weary sufferer, eased from pain slept 

deep, 
While Ruth, her face aglow, bent watching o'er her 

dreams. 
And when at last the child grew restless in her sleep, 
A loving kiss on sun-brown cheek was laid. 
She dreamed — then woke. 

M Dear Ruth, Pve been to heaven — to mother's home, 
And oh! she was so glad her little girl had come. 
I thought that in that joyous place, Elysium fair, 
Oar teacher dear, and all who loved on earth, were 

there, 
' Bring forth a crown, my child has loved and did not 

hate,' 
My mother quickly said. 

But when an angel brought it me, composed of jew- 
els rare, 
My head so small, its heavy weight, I could not bear. 
Our teacher's noble brow, then sure I thought, is 

strong 
To bear mv diadem — lonce atrain waswronsj: 



164 READINGS, REGIT A TIONS, 

For 'mong the many lesser crowns lie wore with 

grace 
My larger jewels seemed to sparkle out of place. 
Then, when perplexed, the angel knew not what to 

do, 
I thought that Jesus sweetly smiled and looked at 

you, 
And, Ruth, near by the throne we saw you standing 

bright, 
Leant on your crutches grown to amber light. 
The angels woke me shouting praise for trials given. 
That made you strong to wear a Royal crown in 

heaven." 

The noon now passed — the teacher came ; 
With joy he saw the pauper child contented lie 
In Ruth's embrace. 

Mis hand he fondly laid in blessing on her head, 
Whispering soft: " Inasmuch as you have done it 
Unto this my lamb, so have you done it unto me." 
With happy heart Ruth lowly bent above her book, 
Rejoicing much. The teacher watched the sea shell 

flush 
That mantled o'er her cheek, and ever as she raised 
Her calm, clear eyes of gentian blue, then let them 

droop, 
He fully read the echo of her beating heart ; 
For thus that echo rose and wildly swelled, till, lost 
In love, it broke, and then exultant died away. 
" Ah me ! 
Can I who late 
Fain would no comfort see, 
Save in an ever present hate, 
Now wide unto my Master's " Inasmuch " expand 
Till I can grateful see a Father's hand 
In every stripe he loving deals, 
And love without alloy 
In the rod he wields ? 
Oh joy ! " 

Mary Glen. 



AND IMPERSONATIONS. 1JJ 



A KING AMONG MEN. 



You may talk of your emperors, poets, and seers, 
You may speak of your palaces, princes, and peers, 
But a theme far more loyal shall quicken my pen : 
I sing of my father — a king among men. 
His voice is as clear as the music of rills, 
And his foot the bright dew dashes off from the hills, 
And his eye, like a lion's, deep hid in its den, 
Gleams steadfast and true — he's a king among men. 
His brow is like marble— clean sculptured and bright, 
In his hair, like the raven's, gleam stray locks of 

white ; 
Though his hands may be trembling and weary — 

what then ? 
I hail him a monarch — this king among men. 
And his heart — you could never all day in the street 
Find one that was truer — more patiently beat — 
He's a theme that would quicken a livelier pen, 
Oh ! would I could show you — this king among men. 
" What makes him a king ? " you may slightingly 

cry, 
" 'Tis not broadcloth and velvet," I'm proud to re- 
ply— 
" 'Tis nobleness inborn — true manhood — so then 
I mean what I say of this king among men. 
I've a fancy — 'tis simple — but yet let me own 
That when the gates open that lead to the throne, 
Heaven's light on his brow, I may see him again, 
And cry with the angels: " A king among men." 
Harriet M. Spalding. 

ELSIE'S THANKSGIVING. 

Dolly, it's almost Thanksgiving. Do you know 

what I mean, my dear ? 
No? Well, I couldn't expect it ; you haven't been 

with us a year, 



166 READINGS, RECITATIONS, 

And you came with my auntie from Paris, far over 

the wide blue sea, 
And you'll keep your first Thanksgiving, my beauti 

ful Dolly, with me. 

I'll tell you about it, my darling, for grandma's ex- 
plained it all, 

So that I understand why Thanksgiving always 
comes late in the fall, 

When the nuts and the apples are gathered, and the 
work in the fields is done, 

And the fields, all reaped and silent, are asleep in 
the autumn sun. 

It is then that we praise our Father, who sends the 

rain and the dew, 
Whose wonderful loving-kindness is every morning 

new ; 
Unless we'd be heathen, Dolly, or worse, we must 

sing and pray, 
And think about good things, Dolly, when we keep 

Thanksgiving Day. 

But I like it very much better when from church 

we all go home, 
And the married brothers and sisters and the troops 

of cousins come, 
And we're ever so long at the table, and dance and 

shout and play 
In the merry evening, Dolly, that ends Thanksgiving 

Day. 

Now, let me whisper a secret : I've had a trouble to 

bear ; 
It made me feel quite old, dear, and perfectly crushed 

with care; 
'Twas about 1113^ prettiest kitten, tne white one with 

spots of black — 
I loved her devotedly, Dolly; I've been awfully 

angry with Jack ; 



AND IMPERSONATIONS. 167 

So mad that I couldn't forgive him ; and I wouldn't 

kiss him good-night, 
For lie lost my kitt}' on purpose, shut up in a bag so 

tight ; 
He carried her miles and miles, dear, and dropped 

her down in the dark ; 
I wo uli I not wonder a bit, dear, if he took her to 
Central Park. 

And then he came home to supper, as proud as a boy 

could be ; 
I wonder, Dolly, this minute, how he dared to be 

looking at me, 
When I called my kitty and called her, and of course 

she didn't come, 
And Jack pored over his Latin as if he were deaf 

and dumb. 

When I found out what he had done, dear, it was 
just like lead in my heart. 

Though mamma is as kind as an angel, I knew she 
would take his part. 

Suppose kitty did chase the chickens, they might 
have kept out of her way ; 

I've been so sorrowful, Dolly, I've dreaded Thanks- 
giving Day. 

For I'll never pretend to be good, dear, when I feel 
all wrong in my mind ; 

And as for giving up kitty, I'm not in the least re- 
signed. 

And I've known with deep grief, Dolly — known it a 
long time back — 

That I couldn't keep Thanksgiving while I hated my 
brother Jack. 

For you cannot love God and praise him when 3^011 

are cherishing anger this way, 
I've tried hard to conquer it, Dolly — I gave Jack two 

pears to-day ; 



1Q8 READINGS, RECITATIONS, 

I've mended his mittens for him — why, who is this 

creeping in ? 
Wiry it's surely my own white kitten, so tired and 

grimed and thin ! 

And now we will keep Thanksgiving, Dolly and 

kitty and I ; 
I'll go to church in the morning; I'm so glad I'm 

afraid I'll cry. 
O kitty ! my lost, lost treasure, you have found your 

own way back, 
And now I'll forget my troubles, and be friends again 

with Jack. 

Margaret U. Sangster. 



THE GRAVEYARD OF THE AGES. 

The nineteenth century is the heir of all the ages ; 
our inheritance the riches of every century ; our 
legacy the fruits of every cycle. 

Thoughts are the pioneers of civilization. Em- 
pires that rise, and institutions that rule are but the 
lengthened shadows of individual minds walking be- 
fore the sun of immortal glory. 

American progress is the result of the evolution of 
six thousand years — the last and golden link in the 
chain of cause and effect, whose outer ends bind us 
fast to creation's throne. The framework of our coun- 
try is built from the ruins of a dozen empires. The 
fabric of our society is woven from the scattered 
threads of the experience of six hundred centennials. 
Well may we prostrate ourselves before the goddess 
of liberty. Well may we bow in adoration at the 
altar of Columbia — " Queen of the world, and child 
of the skies," for every gem that sparkles on her 
brow was once enshrined in the diadem of Minerva 
or sparkled on the bosom of Clio. 

Man is a creature of contradictions. Life and death 



AND IMPERSONATIONS. lf,9 

lock arms in love. Tn every human breast two 
opposite desires are striving for mastery. Hope, gay 
goddess of the future, stands beside restless ambition 
pointing to the golden future of the west and the 
possibilities of life. Memory, clothed in sable robes, 
silently sits beside some new-made grave, dreaming 
of the days that are gone. 

The Graveyard of the Ages ! 'Tis the Niobe of 
nations ; the Arcana of time ; the Delphi of the 
world ; the sacred spot where secret sorrow mourns 
over the mistakes of life, and spirit meets spirit in 
sweet and solemn thought. 

Eveiy age is a volume, written by time and dedi- 
cated to man. The centuries are its chapters, the 
seasons its pages. Its lines are traced with human 
blood ; its leaves are stained with human tears. 
Every lesson the past has taught has cost a life, 
Every experiment is supplemented with sorrow. 
Every wreck upon the shoals of time is a lighthouse 
to some future sailor. The ruins of cities are the 
silent admonitions of death, the remains of nations — 
warning voices speaking from the grave. 

Tell me, thou reverend chronicler of the grave, can 
all the illusions of ambition be realized? Can the 
wealth of commerce secure to nations the permanence 
of its possession ? Alas, Thebes thought so once, yet 
her hundred gates have crumbled. So thought the 
Athenians and the Spartans : yet the dust of Leoni- 
das is trampled by the cringing slave. Though Ph id- 
ins cut his name on the shield of Minerva, and 
Byron left his inscription on the shield of Apollo, 
millions of men, who were good and great, have gone 
back again into the tongueless silence of the dream- 
less dust, where scathing sorrow nor anxious care 
never more can break their peaceful sleep. 

Dreamer among the possibilities of life, do you 
ever grow weary waiting for fortune to lift you upon 
the pedestal of prominence? For untold ages the 
New World, impatient, lay hidden behind the veil 
creation dropped, till time proudly lifted the curtain, 



170 READINGS, RECITATIONS, 

and the Old World gazed in silent awe upon her 
beauteous sister world. 

Do you ever grow tired of the dry routine of life? 
Every age teaches some new lesson, every season 
brings some new sorrow, every June some new joy. 
Age on age rolls silently away. Humanity lives and 
loves and dies. Yet Time — "Time, the tomb-builder, 
holds his fierce career — and pauses not, like other 
conquerors, to muse upon the fearful ruins lie hath 
wrought." 

Soon our own loved land shall go to join the sister- 
hood of nations in the Graveyard of the Ages, 
America, where persecuted libert} r found a peaceful 
home, and free institutions flourished unmolested! 
Oh, thou child of time ! prodigy of the Ages! Bethle- 
hem's Star of the West! loving lips breathe benisons 
on thy life, devoted hands wait ready to defend, and 
young ambition registers a solemn vow that thou shalt 
not be forgotten till memory's chain lies broken in 
the dust, and hearts no longer love. — Wilhelm. 



MRS. LEO HUNTER. 

One morning, Sam Weller handed Mr. Pickwick 
a card bearing the following inscription : 



Mrs. Leo Hunter. 

The Den, 

Eatonswill. 



" Person's a-waitin'," he said. 
" Does the person want me, Sam ? " inquired Mr. 
Pickwick. 



A XT) UIPETi SOX A TIONS. 1 7 1 

" He wants you partickler, an' do one else'll do." 

" But this is a lady's card." 

" Given me by a genTm'n, hows'ever, an' he's 
a-waitin' in the drawin'-rooni." 

Mr. Pickwick hastened to the drawing-room, where 
sat a grave man, who started up on his entrance, and 
said, with an air of profound respect, " Mr. Pickwick, 
I presume ? " 

" The same." 

" Allow me, sir, the honor of grasping your hand — 
permit me, sir, if you will, to shake it." 

" Certainly." 

" We have heard of your fame, sir. The noise of 
your antiquarian discussion has reached the ears of 
Mrs. Leo Hunter — my wife, sir; I am Mr. Leo Hun- 
ter." The stranger paused, as if he expected that 
Mr. Pickwick would be overcome by the disclosure ; 
but, seeing that he remained perfectly calm, pro- 
ceeded — " My wife, sir, Mrs. Leo Hunter, is proud to 
number among her acquaintance all those who have 
rendered themselves celebrated by their works and 
talents. Permit me, sir, to place in a conspicuous 
part of the list, the name of Mr. Pickwick and his 
brother members of the club that derives its name 
from him." 

" I shall be extremely happy to make the acquaint- 
ance of such a lady, sir." 

" You shall make it, sir. To-morrow morning, sir, 
we give a public breakfast — a fete champetre — to a 
great number of those who have rendered themselves 
celebrated by their works and talents. Permit Mrs. 
Leo Hunter, sir, to have the gratification of seeing 
you at the Den." 

" With great pleasure." 

" Mrs. Leo Hunter has manjr of these breakfasts, 
sir ; ' feasts of reason,' sir, and ' flows of soul,' as some 
one who wrote a sonnet to Mrs. Leo Hunter feelingly 
and originally observed." 

"Was he celebrated for his works and talents?" 

"He was, sir ; all Mrs. Leo Hunter's acquaintance 



172 HEADINGS, RECITATIONS, 

are ; it is her ambition, sir, to have no other acquaint- 
ance." 

" It is a very noble ambition." 

" When I inform Mrs. Leo Hunter that that remark 
fell from your lips, sir, she will, indeed, be proud. 
You have a gentleman in your train, I think, sir, who 
has produced some beautiful little poems." 

" My friend, Mr. Snodgrass, has a great taste for 
poetry." 

"So has Mrs. Leo Hunter, sir. She dotes on 
poetry. She adores it. I may say that her whole 
soul and mind are wound up and entwined with it. 
She has produced some delightful pieces herself, sir. 
You may have met with her ' Ode to an Expiring 
Frog.' " 

•' I don't think I have." 

" You astonish me, sir ; it created an immense 
sensation. It was signed with an ' L ' and eight 
stars, and appeared in a lady's magazine. It com- 
mences — 

" ' Can I view thee panting, lying 
On thy stomach, without sighing — 
Can I, unmoved, see thee dying 

On a log, 

Expiring frog? ' " 

" Beautiful ! " said Mr. Pickwick. 
" Fine," said Mr. Leo Hunter ; " so simple ! " 
« Very." 

" The next verse is still more touching. Shall I 
repeat it ? " 

" If you please." 

" ' Say, have fiends, in shapes of boys, 
With wild halloo and brutal noise, 
Hunted thee from marshy joys, 
With a dog, 
Expiring frog ? ' " 



ANT) nrPETiSOyATIONR. 17'! 

"Finely expressed," said Mr. Pickwick. 

"All point, sir, all point; but you shall hear Mrs. 
Leo Hunter repeat it. She can do justice to it, sir." 
— Charles Dickens. 



THE ELF-CHILD. 

Little Orphant Annie's come to our house to stay, 
An' wash the cups an' saucers up, an' brush the 

crumbs away, 
An' shoo the chickens off the porch, an' dust the 

hearth an' sweep, 
An' make the fire, an' bake the bread, an' earn her 

board an' keep ; 
An' all us other children, when the supper things is 

done, 
We set around the kitchen fire an' has the mostest 

fun 
A-list'nin' to the witch tales 'at Annie tells about, 
An' the gobble-uns 'at gits you ef you don't watch 

out! 

Onct they was a little boy, wouldn't say his 

pray'rs — 
An' when he went to bed at night, away upstairs. 
His mamma heerd him holler, an' his daddy heerd him 

bawl, 
An' when they turn't the kivvers down he wasn't 

there at all ! 
An' they seeked him in the rafter-room, an' cubby- 
hole an' press, 
An' seeked him up the chimney-flue, an' everywheres, 

I guess, 
But all they ever found was thist his pants an' 

roundabout ! 
An' the gobble-uns '11 git you ef you don't watch 

out ! 



174 READINGS, RECITATIONS, 

An' one time a little girl 'ud alius laugh an' grin, 
An' make fun of ever' one an' all her blood-an-kin, 
An' onct, when there " was company," an' ole folks 

was there. 
She mocked 'em an' shocked 'em, an' said she didn't 

care ! 
Air thist as she kicked her heels, an' turrit to run an' 

hide, 
They was two great, big, Black Things a-standin' by 

her side, 
An' they snatched her through the ceilin' 'fore she 

knowed what she's about ! 
An' the gobble-uns '11 gityou ef you don't watch out ! 

An' little Orphant Annie says when the blaze is blue, 
An' the lamp wick sputters, an' the wind goes 

woo-oo ! 
An' you hear the crickets quit, an' the moon is 

gray, 
Au' the lightnin' bugs in dew isall squenchedaway — 
You better mind your parents, an' your teachers, 

fond an' dear, 
An' cherish them 'at loves you, an' dry the orphant's 

tear, 
An' he'p the po' an' needy ones 'at clusters all about, 
Er the gobble-uns '11 git you ef you don't watch out ! 
James Whitcomb Riley. 

By permission of the Bowen-Merrill Pub. Co., Indianapolis. 



MACBETH AND THE DAGGER. 

Is this a dagger which I see before me, 
The handle toward my hand ? • • • • Come, let me clutch 
thee ; • • • • 

I have thee not, and yet I see thee still 

Art thou not, fatal vision, sensible 

To feeling as to sight ? .... Or art thou but 

A dagger of the mind, .... a false creation, 



AND IMPERSONATION 8. 175 

Proceeding from the heat-oppressed brain ?. . . . 

J see thee yet, in form as palpable 
As this which now I draw. 
Thou marshal'st me the way that I was going; 
And such an instrument I was to use. 
Mine eyes are made the fools o' the other -senses 

Or else worth all the rest 

I see thee still ; 
And on thy blade and dudgeon gouts of blood, 

Which was not so before 

There's no such thing : 
It is the bloody business which informs 
Thus to mine eyes. . . . Now o'er the one half world 
Nature seems dead, and wicked dreams abuse 
The curtain'' (1 sleeper; .... witchcraft celebrates 
Pale Hecate's offerings ; and wither'd. murder, . . 
Alarum'd by his sentinel, the wolf, 
Whose howl's his watch, thus with his stealthy pace, 
With Tarquin's ravishing strides, toward his design 

Moves like a ghost 

Thou sure and firm set earth, 
Hear not my steps, which way they walk, for fear 
Thy very stones prate of my whereabout, 
And take the present horror from the time, 

Which now suits with it Whiles I threat, he lives. 

Words to the heat of deeds too cold breath gives. 

[A bell rings. 
I go . . . and it is done. The bell invites me ... . 
Hear it not, Duncan : for it is a knell 
That summons thee ... to heaven ... or to hell. 



Shakespeare, 



HAMLET. 



Hamlet ! Wonderful art of the magician ! To 
sway with a shadow a shadow's love, a shadow's grief, 
a shadow's intellect and the madness of a shade ! To 
make this phantasm not only what it is as such, but 
to make its phantom mind a problem forever. For 



176 READINGS, RECITATIONS, 

this Hamlet never was. The past held him not nor 
shall we meet him "in the eonrt of heaven." He 
mouldered with the creative brain under the chancel 
of Stratford Church. 

But, after all, is he unreal ? What is reality in such 
cases! The fleshliest incubus is real: the grossest 
prince who lives and dies is an actual being. But for 
this earth his reality ends with his death. Seldom 
does a vibration from him reach beyond his genera- 
tion. A few years and no one hears him. As well 
lay the ear over his grave to listen for his soliloquies. 

Not so this ideal prince. He stands apparelled in 
imperial robes — not a statue — but one of each succes- 
sive generation ; not shunned like the Wandering Jew, 
but loved and obeyed and pitied. He has no succes- 
sor. His kingdom widens as years go on. He sets 
up his monarchy in empires and republics alike ; in 
Indian cities to survive their gods ; in Australasian 
continents and islands. Ships gliding over lonely 
seas hold him. He sways the mind in the long win- 
ter of Arctic horror and in African deserts. 

Is he not then a most enduring reality? No other 
character in literature has this omnipresence and im- 
mortality. Why is this so? It is because " Hamlet" 
is man, and he is every man. He is kept alive by all 
men, by that self-love and recognition which yearns 
for and claims immortality as the heritage of every 
human soul. We see in him our inmost parts, our 
most evanescent spiritualism ; our most enduring 
attributes. He is our life. We come face to face 
with life. There it is all stretched before us, so 
beautiful to see that we cannot think it has an end. 
From the very dew and flowers of spring exhales a 
poison which blasts us forever. 

Our great purposes are beaten down by some 
malign force; our wills become infirm; we resolve 
that we will act the part of men, but fail to do it— 
and we are " Hamlet." 

We are snatched up from the accordant masses of 
humanity, and are hurried to and fro as if the powers 



AND IMP /■: R S ONATIO .V S. 177 

of the air were making their devilish sport with us 
in the coldest regions of outer darkness — and we are 
" Hamlet." 

Love, Paphian at once and pure, comes toward us 
like a dawn, garlanded and bearing wreaths of all the 
flowers. But her face wans, her mind fades darkling 
away ; the flowers fade, and she hands us fennel and 
rue : rosemaries for remembrance, and pausies for 
thought — all withered, and we are "Hamlet." 

And then we change. Melanchoh r claims us. We 
make delusions our familiars, and our home is dark- 
ness. Life ends with no purpose accomplished — our- 
selves a riddle — and we are " Hamlet" to the grave. 
— Ex- Gov. Davis of Minnesota. 



MIRACLES. 

" An egg a chicken ! don't tell me ! 
For didn't I break an egg to see ? 
There was nothing inside but a yellow ball 
With a bit of mucilage round it all. 
Neither beak nor bill, nor toe, nor quill, 
Not even a feather to hold it together ; 
Not a sign of life could any one see. 
An egg a chicken ! You can't fool me ! 

" An egg a chicken ! Didn't I pick up the shell 

That had held the chick, so they said ? 

And didn't I work half a day 

To pack him in where he wouldn't stay ? 

Let me try as I please with squeeze upon squeeze ; 

There is scarce space to meet his head and his feet, 

No room for any of the rest of him, so — 

That egg never held that chicken, I know ! " 

Mamma heard the logic of her little man, 
Felt his trouble and'helped him as mothers can, 
12 



178 READINGS, EXCITATIONS, 

Took an egg from the nest — it was smooth and round, 
" Now, my boy, can you tell me what makes this 

sound ? " 
Faint and low — "tap, tap;" soft and slow, "rap, 

rap," 
Sharp and quick like a prisoner's pick, 
"Hear it peep inside there," cried Tom with a shout. 
" How did it get in, and how can it get out? " 

Tom was eager to help — he would break the shell. 
Mamma smiled "All's well that ends well, 
Be patient a while yet, mjr boy," " click — click," 
And out popped the head of 'a dear little chick. 
No room had it lacked, though snug was it packed, 
There it was all complete, from its head to its feet. 
The softest of down and the brightest of eyes, 
And so big, why the shell wasn't half its size. 

Tom gave a long whistle — " Mamma, now I see 
That an egg is a chicken ! though the how beats me. 
An egg isn't a chicken, that I know and declare, 
Yet an egg is a chicken, see the proof of it there! 
Nobody can tell how it came in the shell ; 
Once out all in vain to pack it in again, 
I think 'tis a miracle, mamma mine, 
As much as that of the water and wine." 

Mamma kissed her little boy, " It may be 

That we try too much reasoning, you and I, 

Yes, there are miracles wrought every day for our 

eyes, 
That we see without seeing or feeling surprise, 
And we must take on trust what we can not ex- 
plain, 
From the flower to the seed ; from the seed to the 

flower, 
'Tis a world of miracles every hour. 



AND IMPERSONATIONS. 17'J 



THE BATTLE. 



Heavy and solemn, a cloudy column ! 
Through the green plain they marching came. 
Measureless spread, like a table dread, 
For the wild grim dice of the iron game. 
Looks are bent on the shaking ground, 
Hearts beat low with a knelling sound; 
Swift by the breasts that must bear the brunt 
Gallops the major along the front ; 

"Halt!" 
And fettered they stand at the stark command, 
And the warriors, silent, halt! 

Proud in the blush of morning glowing, 

What on the hill-top shines in flowing? 

"See you the foeman's banners waving? " 

" We see the foeman's banners waving ! " 

" God be with you, children, and wife ! " 

Hark to the music — the drum and fife — 

How the} r ring through the ranks which they rouse 

to the strife ! 
Thrilling they sound with their glorious tone, 
Thrilling they go through the marrow and bone ! 
" Brothers, God grant when this life is o'er, 
In the life to come that we meet once more ! " 

See the smoke, how the lightning is cleaving asunder ! 
Hark ! the guns, peal on peal, how they boom in their 
thunder ! 
From host to host, with kindling sound, 
The shouting signal circles round ; 
Ay, shout it forth to life or death, 
Freer already breathes the breath ! 
The war is waging, slaughter raging, 
And heavy through the reeking pall 

The iron death-dice fall ! 
Nearer they close, foes upon foes. 
" Ready ! " from square to square it goes. 



180 READINGS, RECITATIONS, 

They kneel as one man, from flank to flank, 
And the fire comes sharp from the foremost rank. 
Many a soldier to earth is sent, 
Many a gap by the balls is rent ; 
O'er the corse before springs the hinder man, 
That the line may not fail to the fearless van. 
To the right, to the left, and around and around, 
Death whirls in its dance on the bloody ground. 
God's sunlight is quenched in the fiery fight, 
Over the host falls a brooding night ! 
Brothers, God grant, when this life is o'er, 
In the life to come that we meet once more! 

The dead men lie bathed in the weltering blood, 
And the living are blent in the slippery flood, 
And the feet, as they reeling and sliding go, 
Stumble still on the corses that sleep below. 
"What! Francis!" "Give Charlotte my last fare- 
well." 
As the dying man murmurs, the thunders swell. 

" I'll give — O God ! are their guns so near? 
Ho, comrades ! — yon volley ! — look sharp to the 

rear ! — 
I'll give thy Charlotte thy last farewell ; 
Sleep soft ! where death thickest descendeth in rain, 
The friend thou forsakest thy side may regain ! " 
Hitherward, thitherward, reels the fight, 
Dark and more darkly day glooms into night; 
Brothers, God grant, when t/iis life is o'er, 
In the life to come that ice meet once more! 

Hark to the hoofs that galloping go ! 

The adjutants ftying ! 
The horsemen press hard on the panting foe, 

Their thunder booms, in dying — 
Victory ! 
Terror has seized on the dastards all, 
And their colors fall ! 

Victory ! 
Closed is the brunt of the glorious fight ; 
And the day, like a conqueror, bursts on the night. 



AND IMPERSONATIONS. 181 

Trumpet and fife swelling choral along, 
The triumph already sweeps marching in song. 
Farewell, fallen brothers ; though this life be o'er, 
There's another in which we shall meet you once more ! 

Schiller. 



MANSIE WAUCH AT THE PLAY. 

(Prize Recitation at the North Mo. State Normal, June, 1889.) 

Mony a time an' often had I heard o' play-actin' 
an' o' players makin' themselves kings and queens, 
an' sayin' a great many wonderfu' things, but I had 
never before an opportunity o' witnessin' the truth 
o' these hearsays. -SoMaister Glen an' I determined 
to run the risk o' our minister's rebuke for the trans- 
gression, hopin' it would make na lastin' impression 
on his mind, paid oor money at the door and were 
soon inside the playhouse. Never, while I live an' 
breathe, will I forget what we heard and saw that 
nicht ! The place was crowded to the e'e, and richt 
to the forehand o' us was a large green curtain. Just 
in front o' it were eight or ten penny candles stuck in 
a board, fastened to the ground, to let us see the 
players' feet like when they came upon the stage, 
while twa blind fiddlers played the bonniest ye ever 
heard. Odds ! the very music was worth a sixpence 
o' itself. 

Just at the time that the fiddlers were playin' the 
"Doonfa' o' Paris," a hand bell rang and up goes 
the green curtain. The music stoppin', in comes a 
decent old gentleman at his leisure, weel poothered, 
wi' an auld-fashioned coat, wi' flap-pockets, broon 
breeches, wi' buckles at the knee, an' silk stockin's 
wi' gushets on a blue ground. I never saw a man 
in sic distress. He stampit aboot, an' stampit aboot, 
dadding the end o' his staff on the ground, and im- 
plorin' all the pooers o' heaven an' yearth to help 
him find his runawa' dauchter that had decampit wi' 



182 READINGS, RECITATIONS, 

a puir loon o' a half-pay captain, that keppit her in 
his arms frae her bedroom, window, up twa pair o 5 
stairs. Every father an' heid o' a family maun ha'e 
felt for a man in his situation, thus to be robbit of his 
dear bairn, an' only dauchter, too, as he tell't us ower 
an' ower again, as the saut, saut tears ran gushin' 
doon his withered face. But the thing was absurd, 
to suppose that we should ken anything aboot the 
matter, havin' never seen either him or his dauchter. 
Sae oot he gaed stampin' at the ither side, determined, 
as he said, to fin' them oot, though he should follow 
them to the warld's end. 

Hardly was his back turned, an' before ye could 
cry "Jack Robinson," incomes the birkie an' the very 
young leddy the auld gentleman described, arm in 
arm thegither. As true as death, before all the crood 
o' folks, he pit his arm roon' her waist an' ca'd her 
his sweetheart, an' love, an' dearie, an' darlin', an' 
everything that is sweet. If they had been courtin' 
in a close thegither, on a Friday nicht, they couldna' 
ha'e said mair to yen anither. I thought sic shame 
to be an e'ewitness to sic on-goin's, that I was obliged 
at last to baud up my hat afore my face an' luik doon. 

The faither lookit to be a rich auld bool, baith frae 
his manner o' speakin', an' the rewards he seemed to 
offer for the apprehension o' the dauchter ; but, to be 
sure, when so many of us were present that had an 
equal right to the spulzie, it wadna be a great deal 
—a thoosand poonds — when dividit. Still, it were 
worth the lookin' after ; so we just bidit a wee. Just 
in the middle o' their fine goin's-on, the sound o' a 
comin' fit was heard, an' the lassie, takin' guilt tae 
hersel, cried oot — " Hide me, hide me, for the sake o' 
gudeness, for yonder comes my auld faither ! " 

Nae sooner said than done. In he clappit herintil 
a closet ; and after shuttin' the door on her, sat doon 
upon a chair, an' pretendit to be asleep in a moment. 
The auld faither came booncing in, and seeing the 
fellow asleep, he opened his een as fast as he had 
steekit them. After blackguarding him up hill an' 



AND IMPERSONATIONS. 183 

doon dale, an' ca'ing him every name but a gentle- 
man, lie haddit J lis staff o'er his crown, an', grippin' 
him by the cruff o' the neck, askit him whaur was his 

dauchter? The rascal had the brass to say at yence, 
that he hadna seen his dauchter for a month ! Though 
mair than a hunnert folk, sittin' in his company, had 
seen him dan ting her with his arm roon' her waist, not 
live minutes before. As a man, asafaither, as an elder 
o' our kirk, I aye hated leeing, as a puir cowardly 
sin; an' I thocht, that wha ever spoke first wad ha'e 
the best richt to be entitled to the reward. So I rose 
u,) an' said: "Dinna believe him, auld gentleman, 
dinna believe him, freen'; he's tellin' a parcel o' lees. 
It's no' worth arguin' aboot, or ca'in' witnesses. Just 
open that press door, an' ye'll see whether I'm speak- 
in' truth or no'." 

Never did I witness sic an uproar an' noise as im- 
mediately took place. The hail hoose was sae glad 
that the scoondrel had been exposed, that they set 
up sic a roar of laughter, an' thumpit awa' at sic a 
rate wi' their feet, that doon fell the place they ca'd 
the gallery. A rush to the door took place, in which 
eveiything was overturnit — the door-keeper wheeled 
away like wild-fire — the lights knockit oot, an' I 
myself carried along till I found myself oot o' doors i' 
the dark leanin' against the wa' on the opposite side o' 
the road, dizzy and bruiset, but thankin' my lucky 
stars that I was na killit on the spot. — David Moir. 

THE RUNAWAY PRINCESS. 

When on all the wood-paths brown 
Red and gold the leaves drop down, 
Through the warm, sweet sunshine straying, 
To my ear the wind came, saying : 

" Hearken ! can you understand ' 
What's amiss in Fairyland ?" 
Ding ! dong ! the bells are swinging, 
Here's the town-crier ringing ! 



184 BEADTYGS, KECTTATION'R, 

" Lost ! lest ! " yon hear him say, 
" Stolen or strayed away ! 
Strayed away from Buttercup-town, 
The fair little Princess Thistledown ! " 

All the court had gone to dine 
Knights and lords" and ladies fine. 
Through the open gateway straying 
Came a troop of minstrels playing. 

One was a fiddler, shrivelled and black ; 
One had a banjo over his back ; 
One was a piper, and one did naught 
But dance to the tune, as a dancer ought. 

First the fiddler drew his bow, 
Struck a chord so soft and low — 
Lords and ladies held their breath, 
In a silence deep as death. 

" Ting-a-ting," the banjo rang; 
Up the lords and ladies sprang ; 
Round about the piper pressed— 
" Ho, good piper, pipe your best ! " 

And they danced to the sound 

In a merry-go-round, 

For never before had a minstrel band, 

Chanced to stray into fairyland. 

They filled their pockets with silver money, 
They fed them on barley cakes and honey ; 
But when they were fairly out of town 
They missed little Princess Thistledown. 

" Call the crier ! ring the bells ! 
Search through all the forest dells ! 
Here is silver, here is gold, 
Here are precious gems untold! 



AND IMPERSONATIONS. 185 

He who finds the child may take 
Half the kingdom for her sake! " 

Bim ! boom ! comes a blustering fellow, 
Dressed in black velvet slashed with yellow; 
lie's the king's trumpeter out on the track 
Of i lie wandering minstrels to bring them back. 

But the fiddler is telling his beads by the fire, 

In a cap and a gown, like a grizzly old friar; 

The man with a banjo is deaf as a post, 

The jolly old piper as thin as a ghost ; 

And the dancer is changed by some magic touch 

To a one-legged beggar that limps on his crutch. 

Then Mistress Gentian bent to look 
At her own sweet image in the brook, 
And whispered, " Nobod} r knows it, dear, 
But I have the darling safely here." 

And drooping her fringes low she said: 

" I was tucking my babies into bed, 

When the poor little Princess chanced to pass, 

Sobbing, among the tangled grass ; 

Her silver mantle was rumpled and torn, 

Her golden slippers were dusty and worn ; 

The bats had frightened her half to death, 
The spiders had chased her quite out of breath ; 
I fed her with honey, I washed her with dew, 
I rocked her to sleep in my cradle of blue; 
And I could tell, if I chose to say, 
Who it was coaxed her to run away." 

The mischievous wind the cradle swung, 

(Song.) 
" Sleep, little lady, sleep ! " he sung ; 
" What would they say if they only knew 
It was I who ran away with you ? 
Sleep, little lady, sleep ! " 

Emily E. Miller. 



186 BEADING S, RECITATIONS, 

THE FATE OF NINA AND RIENZI. 

(Arranged especially for this collection.) 

It was a summer's evening. Two youths, eac 
with his arm around the form of his comrade, might 
be seen walking by the banks of the Tiber. The 
tender, boyish face of the younger suddenly blanched 
with terror, as there appeared, beyond a neighboring 
hill, a train of cavaliers, followed by a miscellaneous 
crowd all armed with pike and mail, while high above 
the plumes and pikes floated the blood-red banner of 
the Orsini. A moment later, with a ciy of " Save 
me ! save me ! " he sank to the ground, and Cola di 
Rienzi saw his brother's blood flowing at his feet. 
Kneeling by that bleeding clay, he sent up the wild 
cry : — "Justice, justice. Will they notgive us justice? 
So young, so gentle, so harmless ! " So saying, he bent 
his head over the corpse, his lips moving as in prayer 
or invocation. Then he arose — a new being — The 
Liberator of Rome. 

Years passed, and the death of the Roman boy was 
forgotten in the growing fame and fortunes of the 
elder brother. Rienzi speaks : " In the ruins of the 
Forum I will make the last appeal to the people. 
By this crucifix I pledge my faith — on this blade I 
devote my life to the regeneration of Rome ! Death to 
the tyranny! Life to the Republic!" 

All Rome thrilled under the thunder of his im- 
passioned utterances: "Oh, Romans, awake, I con- 
jure you ! Let the memory of your former power, 
3 r our ancient liberties, sink deep into } r our souls. Ye 
are without lawful chiefs — and why ? Because you 
are not without your law-defying tyrants. You have 
made a mockery of your country, once the mistress 
of the world ! You have steeped her lips in gall ! 
Ye have set a crown of thorns upon her head ! In a 
propitious hour if }*e seize it, in an evil one if ye 
suffer the glorious opportunity to escape, has this re- 
cord of the past been unfolded to your eyes. Rec- 



AND IMPERSONATIONS. 187 

ollect that the jubilee approaches. Let the moun- 
tains exult around! "On her seven-hilled throne 
renowned old Rome is crowned" — jubilate — "Now, 
even now, a voice seems to whisper in my ear : 
' Pause not, tremble not, waver not ; for the eye of 
the All-seeing is upon you, the hand of the All- 
powerful shall protect.' " 

He spoke as one inspired. They trembled and be- 
lieved, as rapt from the spectacle he stood a moment 
silent, his arm still extended, his dark, dilating eye 
fixed upon space, his lips parted, his proud form 
towering and erect above the herd. His own enthu- 
siasm had kindled that of more humble and distant 
hearers. " The Lord is with Italy and Rienzi ! " 
they cried again and again, as the tribune turned 
and sought the chamber of Nina, his proud, beautiful 
wife. 

Rome is regenerated. The people reign supreme. 
From triumphal arches of drapery wrought with 
silver and gold, inscribed with mottoes of welcome, 
floated banners as if for victory. Rome once more 
opened her arms to receive her tribune and his bride 
— the regal Nina. " Way there — keep back — way — 
make way for the most illustrious — the great 
Senator of Rome. He comes ! He comes ! Rienzi ! 
Rienzi ! Welcome to liberty and Rienzi ! " 



It was the morning of the eighth of October, 
thirteen hundred and fifty-four. Alas ! that the sun 
should rise bright and glorious upon such a scene of 
human desertion and misguided power ! Suddenly 
there burst upon the ear cries of — " Death to the 
tyrant ! death to the traitor ! down with him who 
taxes the people ! " For it had come to this. 

" Fly Rienzi ! Hasten Signora ! Thank Heaven 
I can save ye yet ! The city is filled with armed 
men — not thine. Senator, fly ! " 

" Hist ! " whispered Rienzi. " Save Nina ! Never 
shall mine enemies, never shall posterity, say that 



188 HEADINGS, BECITATIONS, 

Rienzi abandoned Rome. Yes, now, Nina, we part. 
If this is my last hour, may God shield and bless 
thee ! " 

"What! Part? Never! This is my place! I 
am the wife of Cola di Rienzi, the great Senator, 
and by his side will I live and die ! All Rome can- 
not separate me from him ! " 

Again from earth to heaven arose that ominous 
shout — " Down with the tyrant ! " And once again 
Rienzi vainly pleaded with Nina. " Be it so then ; 
come, we will die together ! Listen ! But a few 
days ago and ' Long live Rienzi ! ' was the cry. 
Now, ' Beware lest the traitor escape disguised.' 

" Enough, enough ! Let Rome perish ! I feel at 
last that I am nobler than my country ! " Then in 
a loud voice he cried — " I am the Senator ; who dare 
touch the representative of the people ? " Silent he 
stood, awaiting the issue. What lurid glare lights up 
the morning sky ? The whole Capitol is in flames, with 
Nina and Rienzi in their bridal chamber, now 
the chamber of execution. " Die, traitor ! " and the 
life of Rienzi flowed out at Nina's feet. Alone with 
her dead she stood upon his funeral pyre. Ere yet 
the sound of that thrilling cry had died upon the air, 
down with a mighty crash thundered the whole wing 
of the Capitol — a blackened and smouldering mass. 

The lurid glare of the conflagration cast its reflec- 
tion upon a smooth and placid stream, far in the dis- 
tance, while, with a beauty, soft beyond all art of 
painter and of poet, the sunlight quivered over the 
autumnal herbage and hushed into tender calm the 
waves of the golden Tiber. — Adapted from Bulwer's 
" Last of the Tribunes" 

THE CHILD ON THE JUDGMENT SEAT. 

Where hast thon been toiling all day, sweetheart, 

That thy brow is burdened and sad ? 
The Master's work may make weary feet, 

But it leaves the spirit glad, 



AND IMPERSONATION \ 189 

Was thy garden nipped with the midnight frost, 

Or scorched with the mid-day glare ? 
Were thy vines laid low, or thy lilies crushed, 

That thy face is so full of care ? 

" No pleasant garden toils were mine. 

I have sat on the judgment seat, 
Where the Master sits at eve, and calls 

The children around His feet." 

How earnest thou on the judgment seat, 

Sweetheart, who set thee there? 
'Tis a lonely and lofty seat for thee, 

And well might fill thee with care. 

"I climbed on the judgment seat myself, 

I have sat there alone all day, 
For it grieved me to see the children round 

Idling their life away. 

" They wasted the Master's precious seed, 

They wasted the precious hours ; 
They trained not the vines, nor gathered the fruit, 

And they trampled the sweet, meek flowers." 

And what didst thou on the judgment seat, 

Sweetheart, what didst thou there? 
Would the idlers heed thy childish voice ? 

Did the garden mend for thy care? 

"Nay; and that grieved me more; I called and I 
cried, 

But they left me there forlorn ; 
My voice was weak, and they heeded not, 

Or they laughed my words to scorn." 

Ah ! the judgment seat was not for thee, 

The servants were not thine ; 
And the eyes which fix the praise and the blame 

See farther than thine or mine. 



190 READINGS, RECITATIONS, 

The voice that shall sound there at eve, sweetheart, 

Will not strive nor cry to be heard; 
It will hush the earth, and hush the hearts, 

And none will resist its word. 

" Should I see the Master's treasures lost, 

The gifts that should feed His poor, 
And nut lift ray voice (be it as weak as it may), 

And not be grieved sore ? " 

Wait till the evening falls, sweetheart, 

Wait till the evening falls ; 
The Master is near and knoweth all, 

Wait till the Master calls. 

But how fared thy garden plot, sweetheart, 
Whilst thou sat on the judgment seat? 

Who watered thy roses, and trained thy vines, 
And kept them from careless feet ? 

" Nay ! that is saddest of all to me, 

That is saddest of all ! 
My vines are trailing, my roses are parched, 

My lilies droop and fall." 

Go back to thy garden plot, sweetheart, 

Go back till the evening falls, 
And bind thy lilies, and train thy vines, 

Till for thee the Master calls. 

Go make thy garden fair as thou canst, 

Thou workest never alone ; 
Perchance he whose plot is next to thine 

Will see it, and mend his own. 

And the next shall copy his, sweetheart, 

Till all grows fair and sweet ; 
And when the Master comes at eve, 

Happy faces His coming will greet. 



AND IMPERSONATIONS. 191 

Then shall thy joy be full, sweetheart, 

In thy garden so fair to see, 
In the Master's voice of praise to all, 

In a look of His own for thee. 

By the Author of the " Ootta Family:' 



MAY DAYS. 

In sweet May time, so long ago, 

I stood by the big wheel, spinning tow, 

Buzz, buzz, so very slow; 

Dark rough logs from the ancient trees, 

Fireplace wide for the children's glees. 

Above the smoky boards and beams, 

Down through the crevice poured golden gleams, 

Till the wheel dust glimmered like diamond dreams ; 

Mother busy with household cares, 

Baby playing with upturned chairs, 

Old clock telling how fast time wears. 

These within. Out under the sky 
Flecked mists were sailing, birds flitting by, 
Joyous children playing " I spy." 
Up from the earth curled leaves were coming, 
Bees in the morning sunshine humming, 
Away in the woods the partridge drumming, 

O, how I longed to burst away, 
From my dull task to the outer day ; 
But we were poor and I must stay. 
So buzz ! buzz ! — 'twas very slow, 
Drawing threads from the shining tow, 
When the heart was dancing so. 

Then hope went spinning a brighter thread; 
On, on, through life's long lane it led, 
A path my feet should one day tread. 



192 READING*, RECITATIONS, 

So -pleasant thoughts would time beguile, 
Till my mother said, with beaming smile, 
" My child may rest, 1 will reel awhile." 

Rest! 'twas the rest that childhood takes, 

Off over fences and fragrant brakes, 

To the wilds, where the earliest woodland flings. 

Spring of the year, and life's sweet spring, 

Words are poor for the thoughts ye bring. 

But ye come together to me no more, 
Your twin steps rest on the field of yore, 
Ye are mine on yonder immortal shore. 
'Twas hard to leave those bright May days, 
The mossy path, and leafy maze 
For common work, and humdrum ways. 

But my steps were turned, I was up the lane, 

Back to the buzzing wheel again ; 

My yarn had finished the ten knot skein, 

And my gentle mother stroked my head : 

" Your yarn is very nice," she said, 

" It will make a beautiful tablespread. 

" You are my good girl to work so well." 
Great thoughts my childish heart would swell, 
'Till the happy tears like rain drops fell. 
I would toil for her, I would gather lore, 
From many books a mighty store, 
And pay her kindness o'er and o'er. 

She should work no more at wheel or loom, 
My earnings should give her a cozy room, 
. Bright and warm for the winter's gloom, 
A soft arm-chair for her weary hours, 
Books and music, pictures, flowers. 

So the sweet dream ran, as the wheel buzzed on, 
'Till the golden gleams of light were gone, 
And the chilling rain came dripping down. 



A x t> imp r. i: s NA Tin mrs. 193 

All ! m\ in ;ii i lias it e'er been so, 
Cold clouds shading Life's sunniest glow, 
Warm hopes drowned in the cold wave's How 

In the .same low room my mother pressed 
Each child to her softly heaving breast, 
And closed her eyes and went to rest. 
The old walls crumbled long ago, 
Mushed the big wheel's buzzing slow, 
Worn to shreds is the shining tow. 

Yet with the bursting leaves and flowers, 
The gushing songs and pearly showers, 
Life brightens as in childhood's hours, 
And hope, this golden morn in May, 
Spins golden threads that float away 
To a heavenly home that is bright for aye. 

Waverly Magazine. 



THE CONQUERED BANNER. 

(Prize Selection at North Mo. state Normal, Jan., 1889.) 

Furl that banner, for 'tis weary, 
'Round its staff 'tis drooping dreary, 
Furl it, fold it, for it is best. 
For there's not a man to wave it, 
And there's not a sword to save it, 
And there's not a hand to lave it 
In the blood that heroes gave it, 
Furl it, hide it ; let it rest. 

Take that banner down, 'tis tattered; 
Broken is its staff and shattered, 
And the valiant hosts are scattered 
Over whom it iloated high. 
Oh ! 'tis hard for us to fold it, 
Hard to think there's none to hold it, 
Hard that those who once unrolled it 
Now must furl it with a sigh. 



194 READINGS, RECITATIONS, 

Furl that banner — furl it sadly! 
Once ten thousand hailed it gladly, 
And ten thousand wildly — madly — 
Swore it should forever wave — 
Swore that foeman's sound could never 
Hearts like theirs entwined dissever 
Till that flag would wave forever, 
O'er their freedom or their grave. 

Furl it, for the hand that grasped it, 
And the hearts that fondly clasped it 
Cold and dead are lying now. 
And the banner — it is trailing, 
While around it sounds the wailing 
Of its people in their woe. 
For though conquered they adore it, 
Love the cold dead hands that bore it ! 
Weep for those who fell before it ! 
Pardon those who trailed and tore it ! 
Wildly — wildly they deplore it 
Now to furl and fold it so. 

Furl that banner — true 'tis gory, 
But 'tis wreathed around with glory, 
And 'twill live in song and story 
Though its folds are in the dust. 
For its fame on brightest pages, 
Penned by poets and by sages, 
Shall go sounding down the ages: 
Furl its folds though now we must. 

Furl that banner — softly — slowly — 
Treat it gently— it is holy — 
For it droops above the dead ! 
Touch it not — unfold it never ! 
Let it drop there — furled forever, 
For its people's hopes are dead. 

Father Ryan. 



AND IMPERSONATIONS. 195 



ROBERT E. LEE. 



When the future historian comes to survey the 
character of Robert E. Lee, he will find it rising like 
a huge mountain above the undulating plain of 
humanity, and he will have to lift his eyes high, 
high toward heaven to catch its summit. 

He possessed every virtue of the other great com- 
manders without their vices. He was a foe without 
hate, a friend without treachery, a soldier without 
cruelty, and a victim without murmuring. He was a 
public officer without vice, a private citizen without 
wrong, a Christian without hypocrisy, and a man 
without guile. He was Caesar without Caesar's am- 
bition, Frederick without Frederick's tyranny, Napo- 
leon without Napoleon's selfishness, and Washington 
without Washington's reward. He was obedient to 
authority as a servant, and royal in authority as a 
king. In life, gentle as a woman, in thought modest 
and pure as a virgin ! Watchful as a Roman Vestal 
in duty, submissive to law as Socrates, and grand in 
battle as Achilles. — B. II. Hill. 

THE PURITANS. 

The Puritans — the most remarkable body of men, 
perhaps, which the world has ever produced ! The 
odious and ridiculous parts of their character lie on 
the surface. He that runs may read them ; nor have 
there been wanting attentive and malicious observers 
to point them out. For many years after the Res- 
toration they were the theme of unmeasured invective 
and derision. They were not men of letters ; they 
were, as a body, unpopular ; they could not defend 
themselves ; and the public would not take them 
under its protection. They were therefore abandoned 
to the tender mercies of the satirists and the drama- 
tists. The ostentatious simplicity of their dress, 
their sour aspect, their stiff posture, their long 



196 READINGS, RECITATIONS, 

graces, their Hebrew names, their contempt of 
human learning, and their detestation of polite 
amusement were, indeed, fair game for the laughers. 
But it is not from the laughers alone that the 
philosophy of human history is to be learnt. 

Those who roused the people to resistance, who 
formed, out of the most unpromising material, the 
finest army that Europe had ever seen, who trampled 
down king, church and aristocracy, who made the 
name of England terrible to every nation on the face 
of the earth, were no vulgar fanatics. 

The Puritans were men whose minds had derived 
a peculiar character from the daily contemplation of 
superior beings and eternal interests. Not content 
with acknowledging in general terms an overruling 
Providence, they habitually ascribed every event to 
the will of the Great Being, for whose power nothing 
was too vast, for whose inspection nothing was too 
minute. To know Him, to serve Him, to enjoy Him, 
was with them the great end of existence. They 
recognized no title to superiority but His favor 
and confident of that favor, they despised all the 
accomplishments and all the dignities of the world. 
If they were unacquainted with the works of philoso- 
phers and of poets, they were deeply read in the 
oracles of God. If their names were not found 
in the registers of heralds, they felt assured that 
they were recorded in the Book of Life. If their 
steps were not accompanied by a splendid train 
of menials, legions of ministering angels had charge 
over them. Their palaces were houses not made 
with hands ; their diadems, crowns of glory which 
should never fade away! On the rich and the 
eloquent, on nobles and priests, they looked down 
with contempt; for they esteemed themselves rich 
in a more precious treasure and eloquent in a more 
sublime language. The very meanest of them was 
a being to whose fate a mysterious and terrible im- 
portance belonged. For his sake empires had risen 
and flourished and decayed. For his sake the 



AND IMPERSONATIONS. 197 

Almighty had proclaimed his will by the pen of the 
evangelist and the harp of the prophet. It was for 
him that the sun had been darkened, that the rocks 
had been rent, that the dead had arisen, that all 
nature had shuddered at the sufferings of her expir- 
ing God. 

The Puritan was made up of two different men, 
the one all self-abasement, penitence, gratitude, pas- 
sion ; the other proud, calm, inflexible, sagacious. 
He prostrated himself in the dust before his Maker ; 
but he set his foot on the neck of his king. In his 
devotional retirement he prayed with convulsions, 
and groans, and tears. He was half maddened by 
glorious or terrible illusions. He heard the lyres of 
angels or the tempting whispers of fiends. He caught 
a gleam of the Beatific Vision, or woke screaming 
from dreams of everlasting fire. Like Vane, he 
thought himself intrusted with the sceptre of the 
millennial year. Like Fleetwood, he cried in the bit- 
terness of his soul that God had hid His face from 
him. But when he took his seat in the council, or girt 
on his sword for war, these tempestuous workings of 
the soul had left no perceptible trace behind them. 
People who saw nothing of the godly but their un- 
couth visages, and heard nothing from them but 
their groans and whining hymns, might laugh at 
them. But those had little reason to laugh who en- 
countered them in the hall of debate or in the field 
of battle. These fanatics brought to civil and mili- 
tary affairs an immutability of purpose and a cool- 
ness of judgment, which some writers have thought 
inconsistent with their religious zeal, but which were, 
in fact, the necessary effects of it. The intensity of 
their feelings on one subject made them tranquil on 
every other. Death had lost its terrors, and pleasure 
its charms. They had their smiles and their tears, 
their raptures and their sorrows, but not for the 
things of this world. Enthusiasm had made them 
Stoics, had cleared their minds from every vulgar 
passion and prejudice, and raised them above the 
influence of danger and of corruption. — Maeaulay. 



198 BEADING S, RECITATIONS, 



ARTIST AND PEASANT. 

" I wish, Mr. Painter, a picter — 

A model o' beaut}' to me — 
An' if ye can paint it like life, sir, 

This stout bag of gold is yer fee. 
The task will be naught, sure, for ye, sir: 

A little brown hand full o' flowers ; 
Wild roses, an' ferns, an' field blossoms, 

Thet grow in thet meader o' ours. 
On course, we'd prefer the whole picter, 

With eyes all aglow, an' her hair 
Full o' sunbeams, thet lingered caressin', 

'S if loth tu escape from their lair. 
No artist could paint that, I'm sure, sir, 

The face o' thet baby o' ours ; 
So joyous she held up thet hand, sir, 

Sayin', 'Papa, I've dot 'oo some f'owers!' 
We thought, p'r'aps the hand an' the flowers — 

So purty the}' looked thet June day — 
A master might make ' like as life,' sir, 

If so, I'm right willin' tu pay." 

" I think, my good man, I can do it, 

The little one bring for your quest ; 
One sitting, perhaps, will suffice me, 

I'll do what I can — do my best. 
And when she's before me, I'll try then, 

Those eyes, and locks kissed by the sun ; 
Perchance, the sweet babe in her beauty 

You'll find on the canvas when done." 

"What! bring her 'round here? Why, I can't, sir! 

She lies with flowers clasped to her breast — 
Clasped loose, in that little dead hand, sir, 

The way we have laid her to rest ; 
We thought p'r'aps ye might easy do it, 

If told, or made plain to yer eye ; 
Well-a-day ! there are things we would have, sir, 

That money, though mighty, can't buy." 

Fannie L. Fancher, 



AMD UirXlltiOJAlIONS. 199 



MARSE PHIL. 



Well, well, you is Marse Phil's son — yo' favor 'm 
might'ly too ; — 
We wuz like brothers, we wuz — me an' him; 
You tried to fool d' ole nigger, but marster, 'twould n' 
do— 
Not ef you is done growed so tall an' slim. 

Hi ! Lord ! Fse knowed you, honey, sence long befo' 
you born — 
I mean I'se knowed be fambly dat long; 
An' dee's all white-folks, marster, dee hands white as 
young corn ; 
An' ef dee want to — could n' do no wrong. 

You' gran'pa buyed my mammy at Gen'l Nelson's 
sale ; 
An' Deely she come out de same estate ; 
An' blood is jes like pra'r is, hit tain' gwine nuver 
fail- 
Hit's sutney gwine to come out soon or late. 

When I was born, you' gran'pa gi' me to young 
Marse Phil, 

To be his body-servant like, you know ; 
An' we growed up togerr, like two stalks in one hill, 

Bofe tasslin' an' den shootin' in de row. 

Marse Phil was born in harves', an' I dat Christmas- 
come, 
My mammy missed bofe on we de same time ; 
No matter what one got, suh, de urr one sho git 
some, 
We wuz two fibe-cent pieces in one dime. 

We cotch ole hyahs togerr, an' 'possums, him an' 
me ; 

We fished dat mill-pawn over night an" day, 
Rid horses to de water, treed coons up de same tree ; 

An' when you see one, turr warn' fur away. 



200 READINGS, RECITATIONS, 

When Marse Phil weut to college, 't wuz, " Sam — 
Sam's got to go " — Ole rnarster say, " Dat boy's 
a fool 'bout Sam." 
Ole Mistis jest say, " Dear, Phil wants him." An', you 
know, 
Dat Dear hit use to sooth' him like a lamb. 

So we all went to college, way down to Williamsbu'g, 
But 'warn' much larnin' out o' books we got; 

Dem urrs warn' no mo' to him 'n a' ole wormy lug — 
Yes, suh, we wuz de ve'y top de pot. 

An' ef he didn't study dem Latins an' sich things 

He wuz de popularitest all de while ; 
De ladies use' to call him a' " angel widout wings," 

An' when he come I lay, dee use' to smile ! 

You see he wuz ole marster's on'y chile — besides, 

He had a body-servant at he will ; 
An wid dat big plantation dee'd all like to be brides, 

Dat is, ef dee could have de groom Marse Phil. 

'Twuz dyah he meet young mistis, — she is you' ma, 
of co'se ! 
I disremembers now which mont' it wuz; 
One night he come, an', says he, "Sam, I need new 
clo'es ; " 
An 1 I says, " Marse Phil, yes, suh, so you does." 

Well, suh, he made dat tailor meek ev'ything bran' 
new; 
He would n' wear one stitch he had on han' — 
Jes th'owed "em in de chip-box, an' says, " Sam, dem's 
for you " — 
Marse Phil, I tell you, wuz a gentleman ! 

So Marse Phil cotes de mistis, an' Sam he cotes de 
maid — 

We al'ays sot we traps upon one parf ; [say'd, 

An' when ole marster hear* we bofe was gwine, he 

"All right; we'll have to kill de fatted calf." 



AND IMPERSONATIONS. 201 

An' dat wuz what dee did, suh ; de Prodigal was 
home ;- — 
Dee put de ring an' robe upon you' nia ; 
Den you wuz born, young marster, an' den de storm 
hit come — 
An' den de darkness settled from afar. 

De storm hit coined, an' wrenchted de branches from 
de tree, 
De war — you' pa — he's sleep dyah on de hill ; 
An' dough I know, young marster, de war hit sot me 
free, 
I jes says, " Yes, but tell me whar's Marse Phil ? " 

" A dollar " — thankee, marster, you sutney is his 
son ; 
His ve'y spi't-an-image, I declar' ! 
What say, young marster ? Yes, suh, you say, it's 
"jibe, not one." 
You favors, honey, bofe you' Pa an' Ma ! 

Thomas Nelson Page. 



A LITTLE MISTAKE. 

St. Nicholas was resting 

From his Christmas work at last, 
The gifts had all been given, 

The holidays were past ; 
And dozing in his arm-chair, 

With his cat upon his knees, 
The good Saint smoked his honest pipe, 

And took his honest ease. 
But something roused him quickly — 

lie started from his seat, 
A soldier bold, a maiden fair. 

Were kneeling at his feet 
"St. Nicholas," the maiden cried, 

"Behold my fearful plight! 
These wounds have been inflicted 

Since that dreadful, dreadful night. 



202 READINGS, RECITATIONS, 

When you left me in the stocking 

Of a being I dare not name — " 
She paused. The soldier raised his voice, 

And said, " I blush, with shame 
To stand before your saintship 

In the dress you now behold, 
But the way I have been treated 

Makes my very blood run cold. 
I've been nursed and kissed and coddled, 

I've been rocked and sung to sleep, 
Oh, were I not a soldier still, 

I'd almost like to weep." 
"Ah ! " mused the good St. Nicholas, 

" I think I understand," 
And he smiled a merry little smile, 

And coughed behind his hand. 
" 'Twas on that busy Christmas eve 

When all was in a whirl 
This doll was given to a boy, 

This soldier to a girl." 
And then aloud he gravely said, 

" I grieve to see your pain, 
But if you stay with me a year 

All shall be well again. 
Next Christmas eve, my children, 

When you are well and strong, 
I will put you in the stockings 

Where you really do belong." 

"I wonder where my soldier is ! " 

Cried gentle little Moll, 
And Bobby gazing round him sobbed, 

" Where is my baby-doll ? " 

But though they hunted high and low, 
And searched both far and near, 

The maiden and the soldier bold 
Were seen no more that year. 

J. McDermott, in " Youth's Companion** 



AND IMPERSONATIONS. 203 



NORTH AND SOUTH. 

In vain do partisans, by false charges and unholy 
appeals to the bitter memories of the past, attempt 
to lash the North into fury against the South. 

A few years since, when the yellow demon held 
high carnival in the stricken South, a vessel freighted 
by generous hearts and hands in the North floated 
down the father of waters bearing aid to those who 
were once enemies, but now of kin through the great 
" touch of nature." 

The commander of that vessel, a gallant Union 
soldier, now sleeps upon the historic hills of Vicks- 
burg, fit monuments to the memory of him, who died 
not amidst martial music, or of "shot and shell and 
saber stroke," but with a higher and nobler courage, 
silently and calmly gave up his life for those he had 
fought and conquered. In all history, what scene, 
save one on the hills of Judea, is more sublime than 
that upon the banks of the great river, where bearded 
men and pallid women with loving and tender hands 
laid in its last resting-place the body of that northern 
soldier? Angels looked down with moistened eyes, 
and from all nature arose that hymn of love which 
once floated over the blue JEgean. 

"Love, sons of earth, for love is earth's soft lore; 
Look where you will, earth overflows with me; 
Learn from the waves that ever kiss the shore, 
And the winds nestling on the heaving sea." 

Yes, love is stronger than hate, and in the grave 
of that dead hero was buried the last vestige of 
sectional strife. The North needs the South, and the 
South needs the North. The South needs the energy 
and wealth of the great North, whilst the North needs 
the semi-tropical productions of the South. 

The South asks for no pensions, no bounties, no 
payment of its war debt. There is not a Confederate 



204 HEADINGS, RECITATIONS, 

soldier worthy the name who would ask or receive 
one cent from the federal government in pension or 
bounty. All that the South asks is peace, lasting, 
real, true peace — peace in which to build up its 
ruined homes and industries — peace in which to pay 
its proportion of the national debt. 

What the country demands to-day is the develop- 
ment of its material resources, and the protection of 
its citizens in every right. The country is heartily and 
thoroughly tired of sectional strife and sectional legis- 
lation. Enveloped by a common nationality, united 
by a common destiny, we should turn our backs upon 
the sad memories of the past, and go resolutely for- 
ward to the duties of the future. For on the brow 
of that future, God has written in letters of light 
and beauty, " One flag, one people, one country." 
Pledging our unfaltering devotion to the interests of 
country, we shall, if new interests arise, be found with 
that great party which, bearing the constitution as 
the gallant Douglas bore the Brace's heart, will, 
when overpowered, fling it far into the midst of its 
enemies, and falling, covered with wounds and glory, 
protect the sacred treasure even in death. — George 
a. Vest. 

PANSY BLOSSOM. 

Of all the bonny buds that blow 

In fair or cloudy weather ; 

Of all the flowers that come and go 

The full twelve months together, 

This little purple pansy brings 

Thoughts of the saddest, sweetest things. 

I had a little lover once 

Who used to bring me posies ; 

His eyes were blue as hyacinths, 

His cheeks as red as roses ; 

And everybody used to praise 

His pretty looks and winsome ways. 






AND IMPEJiSOYATIONS. 205 

The girls who went to school with rne 

Made little jealous speeches, 
Because he brought me loyally 

His biggest plums and peaches, 
And always at the door would wait 
To carry home my book and slate. 

They couldn't see, with pout and fling, 

The mighty fascination 
About that little crooked-nose thing 

To cause such admiration ! 
As if there wer'n't a dozen girls 
With bluer eyes and longer curls ! 

And this I knew as well as they, 

And never could see clearly, 
Why more than Marion or May 

I should be loved so dearly. 
And so I asked him, why was this, 
He only answered with a kiss. 

And so I teased him, " Tell me why, 

I want to know the reason." 
Then from a flower bed close by — 

The pansies were in season — 
He plucked and gave a flower to me 
With sweet and simple gravity. 

" The garden is in bloom," lie said, 

" With lilies pale and tender, 
With roses and verbenas red, 

And fuchsias' purple splendor, 
But over and above the rest 
This little heart's-ease suits me best." 

" Am I your little heart's-ease then ? " 

I asked with sudden pleasure. 
He answered yes, and yes again, 

Heart's-ease and dearest treasure, 
That the big round world, and all the sea, 
Held nothing half so sweet as me. 



206 READINGS, RECITATIONS, 

I listened with a pleased delight, 
Too rare for words to capture, 

Nor ever dreamed what sudden blight 
Would, come to chill my rapture. 

Could I foresee the tender bloom 

Of pansies, round a little tomb? 

Life holds some stern experience, 

As most of us discover, 
And I've had other losses 

Since first I lost that little lover ; 
But oh, this purple pansy brings 
Thoughts of the saddest, sweetest things. 



TO THE MEMORY OP S. S. COX. 

When Samuel S. Cox passed out from among men 
into the endless shadow of that mystery we call death, 
it was as if the evening star had slipped from tired 
bands and fallen to shine no more. And what shall 
we say of him now that he is gone? 

The scope and character of his achievements differ 
from those of most men we term great. Nearly all 
great men have accomplished greatness by persistent 
effort along some special line of thought or endeavor. 
He was remarkable rather for the versatility of his 
thought and the diversity of his endeavor. He was 
a scholar of extensive research and splendid erudi- 
tion : he was an author whose books enchant with 
bewitching description and sparkle with noble gems 
of thought. He was a statesman of unsullied patri- 
otism and comprehensive grasp. He was an orator 
whose scimitar flashed at the front of fiercest debate, 
and whose eloquence swayed the multitude as storm- 
winds the forests. He was an ambassador whose 
culture, grave and gentle breeding made him a favor- 
ite, and whose skill in diplomacy won him respect 
while it dignified the Republic. And then how genial 
and companionable he was ! How full of life — of the 



A YD TMPETi DONATIONS. 207 

glad, rollicking joy of life ! lie sometimes seemed a 
very boy, scattering joy and sunshine along the way. 

But when sorrow folded her pallid wings and 
brooded about the hearts of those lie loved, hew gen- 
tle he was! In his presence sadness seemed less sad. 
and a softer light crept in among the shadows, for 
there was in his speech and act something so like the 
delicate touch of woman's hand and the melting 
music of woman's speech. Such was the man we 
loved! and we loved him all the more, because we 
knew that behind this native gentleness was the strong 
masculine man, familiar with the philosophies of books 
and trained to the responsibilities of great affairs, who, 
when occasion required, could be stern, rugged, obsti- 
nate, almost vengeful. 

Such was the man we lament. lie lived a pure, un- 
selfish, and useful life ; and he goes away into the 
mystic summer land, leaving behind him a great name, 
and taking with him the blessing of his race. He 
went away without thought of fear, bearing a sweet 
message from the world to those who should greet 
him in the great beyond. — W. J. Stone. 



GETTYSBURG. 

The sun of Gettysburg rose on the first of July and 
saw the army of the gray already advancing in line 
of battle ; the army of the blue hastening eagerly 
forward to this point ; and the unquailing lines so 
long arrayed against each other, stood face to face. 
Once more the inexpressible emotions of yearning 
memory, of fond affection, of dread foreboding, of 
high hopes, of patriotic enthusiasm and stern resolve 
swept for a moment over thousands of brave hearts, 
and the next instant the overwhelming storm of bat- 
tle burst. For three long, proud, immortal days it 
raged and swayed, the earth trembling, the air quiver- 
ing, the sky obscured ; with shouting charge, and 
rattling volley, and thundering cannonade piling the 



208 READINGS, RECITATIONS, 

ground with bleeding blue and gray. Doubtful the 
battle hung and paused. Then a formidable bolt 
of war was forged on yonder wooded height, and 
launched with withering blasts and roar of fire against 
the foe. It reached and pierced the flaming line of 
the embattled blue. It was the supreme moment of 
the peril of the Union — the heroic crisis of the war. 
But the fiery force was spent. In one last wild 
tumultuous struggle, brave men dashed headlong 
against men as brave, and the next moment that 
awful bolt of daring courage was melted in the fer- 
vent heat of an unequal valor, and the battle of 
Gettysburg was fought. 

If the rising sun of the 4th of July, 1863, looked 
upon a sad and unwonted scene, a desolated battle- 
field, upon which the combatants upon either side 
had been American citizens, yet those combatants, 
could they have seen aright, would have hailed that 
day as more glorious than ever before. For from 
that smoking and blood-drenched field, they would 
have seen a more perfect union arising, with the Con- 
stitution at last immutably interpreted, and they 
would have heard anew the immortal pledge — govern- 
ment of the people, for the people, by the people, shall 
not perish from the earth. 

The great question was settled. Other questions 
indeed remain which will greatly try our wisdom and 
our patriotism. But they will be appealed to the 
ordeal of battle no more, they will be settled in those 
peaceful, popular and parliamentary contentions 
which befit a patriotic and intelligent republican 
people. Then indeed the fleeting angel of this hour 
and the hallowed spirits of this consecrated ground 
will have yielded their most precious benediction ; 
and in the field of Gettysburg as we now behold it, 
the blue and the gray blending in happy harmony, 
like the mingling hues of the summer landscape, we 
may see the radiant symbol of the triumphant America 
of our pride, our hope, and our joy. — Greorge William 
Curtis. 



AND 1MFEUS0NATL0NS. 2U ( J 



JACK FROST'S LITTLE SISTER. 

This morning when all the rest had. gone down, 

I stood by the window to see 
The beautiful pictures which there in the night 

Jack Frost had been making for me. 

There were mountains and mills and bridges and 
boats, 

Some queer-looking houses and trees, 
A hammock that swung by itself in the air, 

And a giant cut off at the knees. 

Then there was a steeple so crooked and high, 

I was thinking it surely must fall, 
When right down below it I happened to spy 

The loveliest thing of them all — 

The cutest and cunningest dear little girl, 

I looked at her hard as I could ; 
And she stood there so dainty, and looked back at 
me 

In a little white ulster and hood. 

" Good morning," I whispered, for all in a flash 
I knew 'twas Jack Frost's little sister ; 

I was so glad to have her come visiting me, 
I reached up quite softly and kissed her. 

There ! — can you believe it ? — the darling was gone, 
Killed dead in that one little minute ! 

I never once dreamed that a kiss would do that, 
Nor could there be any harm in it. 

But I am so sorry ! for though I have looked 
Fifty times at the window since then, 

Half hoping to see her once more, yet I know 
She never can come back aq;ain. 



LlO READINGS, UECITATIONS, 

And it may be foolish, but all through the day 
I have felt — and 1 knew that I should — 

Just as if I had killed her, that dear baby-girl 
In a little white ulster and hood. 

Youth's Companion. 



A DEMOCRACY HATEFUL TO PHILIP. 

There are those among you, Athenians, who think 
to confound a speaker by asking him, " What, then, 
is to be done ? " To which I might reply, 
"■Nothing that you are doing; everything that you 
leave undone ! " And it would be an apt, a true 
reply. But I will be more explicit, and may these 
men, so ready to question, be equally ready to act! 

In the first place, Athenians, admit the incontest- 
able fact that Philip has violated his treaties and de- 
clared war against you. On that point let us have 
no further crimination or recrimination. And then 
admit the fact that he is the mortalenemy of Athens, 
of its very soil, of all within its Avails — ay, of those 
even who most flatter themselves that they are high 
in his good graces. What Philip most fears and 
abhors is our liberty, our free democratic system. 
For the destruction of that all his snares are laid, all 
his projects are shaped. 

Is he not consistent in this? Truly, he is well 
aware that though he should subjugate all the rest 
of Greece, his conquest would be insecure so long as 
your democracy should stand. Well does he know 
that should he experience one of those reverses to 
which the lot of humanity is so liable, it would be 
into your arms that ail of those nations now forcibly 
held under his yoke would rush. Is there a tyrant 
to drive back? Athens is in the field! Is there a 
people to be enfranchised ? Lo, Athens, prompt to 
aid! What wonder, then, that Philip should be im- 
patient so long as Athenian liberty is a spy upon his 
evil days? lie sure, O my countrymen, that Philip 



AND IMPERSONATIONS. 211 

is your irreconcilable foe ; that it is against Athens 
he musters all his armaments ; against Athens all his 
schemes are laid. 

What, then, as wise men convinced of these truths, 
ought you to do? What but to shake off your fatal 
lethargy, contribute according to your means, sum- 
mon your allies to contribute and take measures to 
maintain the troops already under arms, so that if 
Philip has an army prepared to attack and subjugate 
all the Greeks, you may have an army ready to suc- 
cor them and to save ? Tell me not of the trouble 
and expense which this will involve. I grant it all. 
But consider the dangers that beset you, and how 
much you will be the gainers by engaging heartily at 
once in the general cause. 

Verity, should some god assure you that however 
inert and unconcerned you might remain, yet in the 
end you should not be molested by Philip, still it 
would be ignominious (bear witness, Heaven !), it 
would be beneath you, beneath the dignity of your 
State, beneath the glory of your ancestors, to sacrifice 
to your own selfish repose the interests of all the rest 
of Greece. Rather would I perish than recommend 
such a course. Let some other man urge it upon you, 
if he will ; and listen to him, ye; if you can ! 

But if my sentiments are yours, if you foresee, as 
I do, that the more we leave Philip to extend his 
conquests, the more we are fortifying an enemy 
whom, sooner or later, we must cope with, why do you 
hesitate ? What wait you ? When will you put forth 
your strength ? Wait you the constraint of necessity ? 
What necessity? Can there be a more pressing one 
for freemen than the prospect of dishonor? Do you 
wait for that? It is here already; it presses, it 
weighs on us even now. Now, did I say ? Long 
since was it before us, face to face. Truly, there is 
still another necessity in reserve— the necessity of 
slaves — subjugation, blows, and stripes. Wait you for 
them? The gods forbid! The very words are in 
this place an indignity ! — Demosthenes. 



212 HEADINGS, HESITATIONS, 



THE END OF THE PLAY. 

The play is done — the curtain drops, 

Slow fulling to the prompter's bell; 
A moment yet the actor stops,' 

And looks around to say farewell. 
It is an irksome word and task ; 

And when he's laughed and said his say, 
He shows, as he removes the mask, 

A face that's anything but gay. 

One word ere yet the evening ends — 

Let's close it with a parting rhyme, 
And pledge a hand to all young friends, 

As fits the merry Christmas-time ; 
On life's wide scene you, too, have parts 

That fate ere long shall bid you play ; 
Good night! — with honest, gentle hearts, 

A kindly greeting go alway ! 

Good night ! — I'd say, the griefs, the joys, 

Just hinted in this mimic page, 
The triumphs and defeats of boys, 

Are but repeated in our age ; 
I'd say your woes were not less keen, 

Your hopes more vain than those of men- 
Your pangs or pleasures of fifteen 

At forty-five played o'er again. 

I'd say we suffer and we strive 

Not less, nor more, as men than boys — 
With grizzled beards at forty-five 

As erst at twelve in corduroys ; 
And if, in time of sacred youth, 

We learned at home to love and pray, 
Pray Heaven that early love and truth 

May never wholly pass away. 



AND IMPERSONATIONS. 213 

And in the world, as in the school, 

I'dsay how fate may change and shift — 
The prize be sometimes with the fool, 

The race not always to the swift ; 
The strong may yield, the good may fall, 

The great man be a vulgar clown, 
The knave be lifted over all, 

The kind cast pitilessly down. 

Who knows the inscrutable design ? 

Blessed be He who took and gave ! 
Why should your mother, Charles, not mine, 

Be weeping at her darling's grave ? 
We bow to Heaven that willed it so, 

That darkly rules the fate of all, 
That sends the respite or the blow, 

That's free to give or to recall. 

This crowns his feast with wine and wit — 

Who brought him to that mirth and state? 
His betters, see, below him sit, 

Or hunger hopeless at the gate ; 
Who bade the mud from Dives' wheel 

To spurn the rags of Lazarus ? 
Come, brother, in that dust we'll kneel, 

Confessing Heaven that ruled it thus. 

So each shall mourn in life's advance, 

Dear hopes, dear friends, untimely killed — 
Shall grieve for many a forfeit chance, 

And longing passion unfulfilled; 
Amen ! — whatever fate be sent, 

Pray God the heart may kindly glow, 
Although the head with cares be bent, 

And whitened with the winter snow. 

Come wealth or want, come good or ill, 
Let young and old accept their part, 

And bow before the awful will, 
And bear it with an honest heart ; 



214 HEADINGS, HEC1TATI0NS, 

Who misses, or who wins, the prize, 
Go, lose or conquer as you can ; 

But if you fail, or if you rise, 
Be each, pray God, a gentleman. 

A gentleman, or old or }^oung 

(Bear kindly with my humble lays); 
The sacred chorus first was sung 

Upon the first of Christmas days ; 
The shepherds heard it overhead — 

The joyful angels raised it then ; 
Glory to Heaven on high, it said, 

And peace on earth to gentlemen. 

My song save this is little worth ; 

I lay the weary pen aside, 
And wish you health and love and mirth, 

As fits the solemn Christmas tide ; 
As fits the holy Christmas birth, 

Be this, good friends our carol still — 
Be peace on earth — be peace on earth 

To men of gentle will. 

Wm. M. Thackeray. 



BRUTUS ON THE DEATH OF CESAR. 

{Prize Selection at the N. Mo. Normal, 1891.) 

Romans, countrymen, and lovers ! hear me for my 
cause, and be silent, that you may hear: believe me 
for mine honor, and have respect to mine honor, that 
you may believe : censure me in your wisdom, and 
awake your senses, that you may the better judge. 

If there be any in this assembly, any dear friend 
of Caesar's, to him I say that Brutus's iove to Osesar 
was no less than his. If, then, that friend demand 
why Brutus rose against Csesar, this is my answer : 
Not that I loved Csesar less but that I loved Rome 



AND IMPKHSOXATfoVs. L'l.l 

I fail you rather Caesar were living, and die all 
slaves, than that Caesar were dead, to live all free- 
men ? 

As Caesar loved me, I weep for him ; as he was 
fortunate, I rejoice at it; as he was valiant, I honor 
him ; but as lie was ambitious, I slew him. There is 
tears, for his love; joy, for his fortune ; honor, for 
his valor ; and death, for his ambition. 

Who is here so base, that would be a bondman ? 
If any, speak ; for him have I offended. Who is 
here so rude, that would not be a Roman ? If any, 
speak ; for him have I offended. Who is here so 
vile, that will not love his country ? If any, speak ; 
for him have I offended. I pause for a reply. — [Citi- 
zens cry out, " None, Brutus — none ! "] — None ! Then 
none have I offended. 

I have done no more to Caesar than you shall do to 
Brutus. The question of his death is enrolled in the 
Capitol ; his glory not extenuated, wherein he was 
worthy ; nor his offences enforced, for which he 
suffered death. 

[Enter Antony and others with Cesar's body.'] 

Here comes his body, mourned by Mark Antony; 
who, though he had no hand in his death, shall re- 
ceive the benefit of his dying — a place in the com- 
monwealth : as which of you shall not? 

With this I depart : That, as I slew my best lover 
for the good of Rome, I have the same dagger for 
myself, when it shall please my country to need, 
my death. — Shakespeare. 



AUTUMN. 

These lovely days of autumn, 
So swiftly gliding by, 

May teach us, friends, a lesson, 
If to learn it we will try. 



216 READINGS, RECITATIONS, 

How beautiful the forests, 

With their varied tints, that vie 

With the changing hues of sunset 
When the clouds are floating' high. ! 

Could the biting frosts of autumn 
To the wood such beauty bring, 

If the leaves had not been growing 
Through the summer and the spring? 

Would the sunset's dying glory 
Seem to us so passing fair, 

If the thunderstorms of summer 
Had not purified the air ? 

Now your spring of life is passing, 
Soon the summer will be here; 

May its storms but serve to purify 
The spirit's atmosphere ! 

May the tender leaves of virtue 
With unfailing vigor grow, 

Telling of a life within you, 

Which the world can never know. 

Then will autumn come upon you 
Like the autumn that we see 

Calm and radiant with the promise 
Of another life to be ! 

8. U. Dent. 



WHAT CONSTITUTES A STATE? 

What constitutes a State ? 
Not high-raised battlement or labored mound, 

Thick wall or moated gate ; 
Not cities proud, with spires and turrets crowned: 

Not bays and broad-arm ports, 
Where, laughing atthe storm, rich navies ride! 

Not starred and spangled courts, 



AND IMPERSONATIONS. 217 

Where low-browed baseness wafts perfume to pride. 

No ! Men — high-minded men — 
With powers as far above dull brutes endued 

In forest, brake, or den, 
As beasts excel cold rocks and brambles rude ; 

Men, who their duties know, 
But know their rights, and, knowing, dare maintain; 

Prevent the long-aimed blow, 
And crush the tyrant while they rend the chain. 

These constitute a state ; 
And sovereign law, that state's collected will, 

O'er thrones and globes elate 
Sits empress : crowning good, repressing ill. 

Smit b}^ her sacred frown, 
The fiend discretion like a vapor sinks; 

And e'en the all-dazzling crown 
Hides his faint rays, and at her bidding shrinks. 

Such was this heaven-loved isle ; 
Than Lesbos fairer, and the Cretan shore ! 

No more shall Freedom smile? 
Shall Britons languish and be men no more? 

Since all must life resign, 
Those sweet rewards which decorate the brave 

'Tis folly to decline, 
And steal inglorious to the silent grave. 

Sir William Jones, 

BABY BOYS. 

I can't see what our baby boy 

Is dood for, anyway ; 
He don't know how to walk or talk, 

He don't know how to play. 
He tears up ev'ry single zing 

He possibly tan ; 
He even tried to break, one day, 

Mamma's bestest fan. 

He's al'ays tumblin' 'bout ze floor, 
An' gives us awful scares ; 



218 LEADINGS, RECITATIONS, 

And when he goes to Led at night 

He never says his prayers. 
On Sunday, too, he musses up 

My go-to-meetin' clothes, 
And once I found him hard at work 

A pinchin' Dolly's nose. 

Ze ozzer da}^ zat naughty boy 

— Now what j r ou s'pose you zink? — 
Upset a dreat big bottle 

Of my papa's writin' ink. 
An' stead of kyin' dood and hard, 

As course he ought to done, 
He laughed, and crowed, and kicked his feet 

As zough he sought 'twas fun. 

He even tries to reach up high 

An' pull zings off ze shelf. 
An' he's al'ays want-in' you of course, 

Jus when you wants youself. 
I rather dess, I really do, 

For how he pulls my turls, 
Boy babaies was made a purpose, 

For to 'noy us little dirls. 

An' I wish zere wasn't no such zings 

As naughty baby boys — 
Why ! why, zats him akyin' now, 

He makes a dreful noise 
I dess I better run and see 

For he has — boo-hoo-hoo ! 
Fell down ze stairs and killed himself — 

Whatever shall I do ! 



GLAUCUS IN THE ROMAN ARENA. 

" Bring fortli the lion and Glaucus the Athenian ! " 
shouted the people louder than ever. 

Glaucus and Olinthus had been placed together in 
that gloomy and narrow cell in which the criminals 



AND IMPERSONATIONS. 219 

of the Arena awaited their last and fearful struggle. 
The religion of the one, the pride of the other, the 
conscious innocence of both, elevated the victim into 
the hero. 

" Hark ! nearest thou that shout?" said Olinthus. 

" 1 hear ; my heart grows sick ; the gods support 
me ! " 

" The gods ! O rash young man, in this hour 
recognise only the one God ! " 

" Bring forth the lion and Glaucus the Athenian." 

" Hush ! already they are clamoring for our 
blood ! " 

" O Heaven ! " cried the fervent Olinthus, " I 
tremble not — I rejoice that the prison-house shall 
soon be broken." 

The door swung gratingly back — the gleam of 
spears shot along the walls. 

" Glaucus the Athenian, thy time is come ; the 
lion awaits thee." 

" I am ready. Olinthus, brother, bless me — and 
farewell ! " 

The Christian clasped the young heathen to his 
breast — he kissed his cheek and forehead — he wept 
aloud. 

Glaucus tore himself away. 

" Courage ! " said one ; " thou art young and active. 
They give thee a weapon, despair not, and thou 
mayst yet conquer ! " 

And now when the Greek saw the eyes of ten 
thousand Romans upon him, all fear was gone. A 
red and haughty flush spread over the paleness of 
his features, and he stood, the very incarnation, vivid 
and corporeal, of the valor of his land — at once a 
hero and a god ! 

The lion had been kept without food for twenty- 
four hours, and was now moving about its cage with 
a restless uneasiness which the keeper attributed to 
the pangs of hunger. Yet its bearing seemed rather 
that of fear than of rage ; its roar was painful and 
distressed; it hung its head—snuffed the air through, 



220 HEADINGS, RECITATIONS, 

the bars — lay down — started again — and again ut- 
tered its wild and far-resounding cries. 

The crowd became impatient. The Editor slowly 
gave the sign. The keeper cautiously removed the 
grating, and the lion leaped forth with a mighty and 
glad roar of release. 

Glaucus had bent his limbs so as to give himself 
the firmest posture at the expected rush of the lion. 
With his small and shining weapon raised on high, he 
stood waiting the attack. But, to the unutterable 
astonishment of all, the beast seemed not even aware 
of his presence. At half-speed it circled round and 
round the arena, turning its vast head from side to 
side with an anxious gaze as if seeking some avenue 
only of escape ; once it tried to leap up the parapet 
that divided it from the audience ; failing, it drooped 
its tail along the sand, and crept with a low moan 
into its cage. 

The rage of the populace at this disappointment 
was fast becoming uncontrollable, when a loud cry 
was heard at one of the entrances of the arena. The 
crowd gave way, and Sallust suddenly appeared on 
the senatorial benches. Half exhausted, he shouted ; 
"Remove the Athenian, — haste! he is innocent! 
Arrest Arbaces the Egyptian. He is the murderer 
of ApEecides!" 

" Art thou mad, O Sallust ! What means this 
raving ? " 

" Remove the Athenian ! Quick ! or his blood be 
on your head. Room there ! — Stand back ! People 
of Pompeii, Arbaces is the murderer ! Here is the 
witness, Calenus, the priest." 

"A miracle! a miracle!" shouted the people. 
"Arbaces to the lion ! Arbaces to the lion ! " 

The maddened crowd, thirsty for blood, were rush- 
ing upon the Egyptian, whose eyes at that moment, 
beheld shooting above the Amphitheatre a strange 
and awful apparition. He stretched his hand on 
high, and shouted with a voice of thunder : " Behold, 
how the gods protect the guiltless ! The fires of the 



AND IMPERSONATIONS. 221 

avenging Orcus burst forth against the false witness 
of my accusers !" 

The eyes of the crowd followed the gesture of the 
Egyptian, and beheld, with dismay, vast vapors shoot- 
ing from the summit of Vesuvius, followed by fires 
that blazed with an intolerable glare ! There was a 
dead, heart-sunken silence — through which there 
suddenly broke the roar of the crouching lion — so 
typical of the coming ruin. Then there arose on 
high the universal shriek of women. Men stared at 
each other and were dumb ; they felt the earth shake 
beneath their feet, and beheld the mountain-cloud 
rolling toward them, dark and rapid, like a torrent. 

No longer thought the crowd of justice or Arbaces. 
Each turned to fly — trampling recklessly over the 
fallen — amidst groans, and oaths and prayers, the 
enormous crowd poured forth. Whither should they 
fly? But darker, and larger, and mightier spread 
the cloud above them — a sudden and ghastly Night 
rushing upon the realm of Noon. — Adapted from 
Bulwer's Last Days of Pompeii. 



NYDIA. 

In proportion as the blackness gathered did the 
lightnings around Vesuvius increase in their vivid and 
scorching glare. In the pauses of the showers you 
heard the rumbling of the earth beneath, and the 
groaning waves of the tortured sea; or, lower still, 
the grinding and hissing murmur of the escaping 
gases through the chasms of the distant mountain. 
Wild, haggard, ghastly with supernatural fears, 
fugitive passed fugitive, crowds encountered crowds, 
but without the leisure to speak, consult, or advise. 

Through this awful scene did Glaucus make his 
way, accompanied by lone and Nydia, the blind girl. 
Suddenly, a rush of hundreds, in their path to the 
sea, swept by them. Nydia was torn from the side 
of Glaucus, who, with lone, was borne rapidly on- 



222 HEADINGS, RECITATIONS, 

ward ; and when the crowd had passed, Nydia was 
still separated from their side. Glaucus shouted her 
name. No answer came. The} r retraced their steps 
in vain. Their friend, their preserver, was lost. 
Hitherto Nydia had been their guide. Her blindness 
rendered the scene familiar to her alone. Accus- 
tomed through a perpetual night to thread the wind- 
ings of the city, she had led them unerringly towards 
the sea-shore by which they had resolved to hazard 
an escape. Now which way could they wend ? 

" Alas ! " murmured lone, " I can go no farther ; my 
steps sink among the scorching cinders. Fly, Glau- 
cus, and leave me to my fate." 

"Blessed lightning! See, lone, see ! the portico of 
the Temple of Fortune is before us. Let us creep 
beneath it for protection from the showers." 

Meanwhile Nydia, when separated by the throng 
from Glaucus and lone, had in vain endeavored to re- 
gain them. In vain she raised that plaintive cry so 
peculiar to the blind ; it was lost amidst a thousand 
shrieks of more selfish terror. Weak, yet fearless, 
supported by but one wish, she was a very emblem 
of Psyche in her wanderings ; of Hope walking 
through the Valley of the Shadow. On she moved 
toward the sea-shore. At length a group of torch- 
bearers rushing full against her, she was . thrown 
down. 

'* What ! " said a voice. " Is this the brave blind 
girl ! By Bacchus, it is ! Up ! My Thessalian ! 
So, so. Are you hurt ? That's well ! Come 
along with us ! We are for the shore ! " 

"0 Sallust! it is thy voice ! Glaucus — Glaucus! 
have you seen him ? " 

"No. He is doubtless out of the city by this 
time. The god who saved him from the lion will 
save him from the burning mountain." Just then, 
Sosia passed with a torch, and its light falling on the 
face of Nydia, he recognized the Thessalian. 

" What avails thy liberty now, blind girl ? " said 
the slave. 



AND IMPERSONATIONS. 223 

" Who art lliou ? Canst thou tell me of Glaucus ? " 

" Ay ; I saw him but a few moments since, couched 
beneath the arch of the Forum — dead or dying." 

Nydia uttered not a word: she slid from the side 
of Sallust ; silently she glided through those behind 
her and retraced her steps to the city. She gained 
the Forum — the arch ! She stooped down — she felt 
around — she called : " Glaucus — Glaucus ! " 

A weak voice answered, " Who calls me ? " 

"Arise! Follow me! Take my hand! Glaucus, 
thou shalt be saved ! " 

In wonder and sudden hope, Glaucus arose — 
" Nydia still ? Ah ! then, thou art safe ! " 

Half leading, half carrying lone, Glaucus followed 
his guide. After many pauses and incredible per- 
severance, they gained the sea. In darkness, with 
others escaping the destruction, they put forth to 
sea. Utterly exhausted, lone slept on the breast of 
Glaucus. While Nydia lay at his feet, showers of 
dust and ashes fell far and wide into the waves and 
scattered the spray over the deck. 

Softly, beautifully, dawned at last the light over 
the trembling deep. In the silence of the general 
sleep, Nydia rose gently. She bent over the face of 
Glaucus — timidly and sadly she kissed his brow and 
with her hair wiped from it the damps of the night. 
" May the gods bless you, Athenian ! May you be 
happy with your beloved lone ! — May you sometimes 
remember Nydia! Alas! She is of no further use 
on earth ! " 

Turning away, she crept slowly along by the plat- 
forms to the farther side of the vessel, and pausing, 
bent low over the deep ; the cool spray dashed upward 
on her feverish brow. "It is the kiss of death," 
she said — " it is welcome ! " The balmy air played 
through her waving tresses. She put them from her 
face, and raised those eyes — so tender, though so sight- 
less, to the sky whose soft face she had never seen. 

" Yes, yes ! " she said, half aloud, " I have saved him 
— happy, happy thought ! It is the last glad thought 



224 BEADING S, RECITATION S, 

I can ever know. Oh ! sacred sea ! I hear thy voice 
invitingly — it hath a freshening and joyous call. 
Rest — rest — rest ! — there is no other Elysium for a 
heart like mine ! " 

A sailor half dozing on the deck, heard a slight 
splash on the waters. Drowsily lie looked up as the 
vessel bounded merrily on, and fancied he saw some- 
thing white above the waves ; but it vanished in an 
instant. He lay down again, and dreamed of his 
home and children. When Glaucusand lone awoke, 
their first thought was of l^yclia, who was not to be 
found. They guessed her fate in silence, and drawing 
nearer to each other, wept as for a departed sister. — 
Adapted from Bulwers Last Bay of Pompeii. 



AT "THE LITERARY." 

Folks in town, I reckon, thinks 
They git all the fun they air 
Runnin' loose 'round! — but, 'y jinks! 
We got fun, and fun to spare 
Right out here amongst the ash 
And oak timber ever' where ! 
Some folks else kin cut a dash 
'Sides town-people, don't fergit ! — 
'Specially in winter-time, 
When they's snow, and roads is fit. 
In them circumstances I'm 
Resignated to my lot — 
Which puts me in mind o' what 
'Scalled " The Literary." 

Us folks in the country sees 

Lots o' fun ! — Take spellin '-school -, 

Er ole hoe-down jamborees ; 

Er revivals ; er ef you'll 

Tackle taffy-pullin's you 

Kin git fun, and quite a few! — 

Same with huskin's, But all these 



AND IMPERSONATIONS. 225 

Kind o' frolieks they hain't new 
By a hundred year er two, 
Cipher on it as you please ! 
But I'll tell you what I jest 
Think walks over all the rest — 
Any way it suits me best, — 
That's " The Literary." ' 

First they started it — " 'y gee ! " 

Thinks-says I, " This settlement 

'Sgittin' too high-toned fer me ! " 

But when all begin to jine, 

And I heerd Izory went, 

I jest kind o' drapped in line 

Like you've seen some sandy, thin, 

Scrawny shoat put fer the crick 

Down some pig-trail through the thick 

Spice-bresh, where the whole drove's been 

' Bout six weeks ' fore he gets in ! 
" Can't tell nothin'," I-says-ee, 
" ' Bout it tel you go and see 
Their blame ' Literary ! ' " 

Very first night I was there 

I was ' p'inted to be what 

They call " Critic " — so's a fair 

And square jedgment could be got 

On the pieces 'at was read, 

And on the debate, — " Which air 

Most destructive element, 

Fire er worter?" Then they hed 

Compositions on " Content," 

" Death," and " Botany ; " and Tomps, 

He read one on "Dreenin ' Swamps" 

I p'nounced the boss, and said, — 

" So fer 'at's the best thing read 

In ' The Literary ! ' " 

Then they sung some — tel I called 

Order, and got back ag'in 

In the critic's cheer, and hauled 



226 HEADINGS, RECITATIONS, 

All o' the p'foriners in. 
Mancly Brizendine read one 
I fergifc ; and Doc's was " Thought ; " 
And Sarepty's, hern was " None 
Air denied 'at knocks;" and Daut — 
Fayette Strawnse's little niece — 
She got up and spoke a piece : 
Then Izory she read hern — 
" Best thing in the whole concern," 
I-says-ee ; "now le's adjourn 
This here ' Literary ! ' ' : 

They was some contendin' — yit 
"We broke up in harmony. 

Road out-side as white as grit, 
And as slick as slick could be ! — 
I'd fetched 'Zory in my sleigh, 
And I had a heap to say 
Driviu' back — in fact, I driv 
' Way around the old north way, 
Where the Danbenspeckses live. 
' Zory alius — 'fore that night — 
Never ' peared to feel jest right 
In my company. — You see, 
On'y thing on earth saved me 

Was that " Literary. " 
James Whitcomb Riley, in Century Magazine. 



SENT BACK BY THE ANGELS. 

(Prize Selection at North Mo. State Normal, Jan., 1890.) 

" A little bit queer — mjr Mary ! 
Her roof not quite in repair ! " 
And it's that yon think with a nod and wink, 
As you sit in my easy-chair ! 



AND IMPERSONATIONS. 227 

Drop it, I say, old feller — 
Drop it, I tell you, do, 
Or language, I doubt, I shall soon let out 
I'd rather not use to you. 

Shake hands, and I ax your pardon — 

Twas chaffing, I knowed you were ; 
But a hint, or a slur, or a joke on her 

Is a thing as I can't abear. 

And what if she has her fancies, 

Why, so has us all, old chap ; 
Not many's the roof as is regular proof, 

If a bit of a whim's a gap. 

She's up to the nines, my Mary — 

Lord bless her, she keeps us right ! 
And it's up with her gown and the house scrubbed 
down, . 

As certain as Friday night. 

Six years we was wed and over 

And never a cradle got, 
And nowhere's, I swear, a more dotinger pair 

On baby and tiny tot. 

So when of a winter morning 

At last we was ma and pa, 
No ro}*al princess had the welcome, I guess, 

As our little stranger had. 

And didn't my Mary bless her ! 

Just picter her, them as can, 
A doin' her best with her mother's breast 

For Alexandria a Ann ! 

For that's what we named the baby 

By way of a start in life, 
From parties, I knew, as could help her through, 

The Queen and my Uncle's wife. 

And wasn't the baby feted ! 
She lay in her bassinet 
With muslin and lace on her tiny face 



228 READINGS, RECITATIONS, 

As ever growecl smaller yet. 
But it wasn't in lace or coral 
To bribe her to linger here ! 
I looks in her ej-es, — " She's off," I sighs — 
" She's off to her proper sp'ere." 

Here treasures was all around her, 
But she was too wise and grave 

For the pug on the shelf, and, as big as herself, 
The doll as her grandma gave. 
She wanted the stars for playthings, 
Our wonderful six-weeks' guest ; 

So, with one little sigh, she closed her eye, 
And woke on a hangel's breast. 

And how did the missis take it ? 

Most terrible calm and mild ; 
With a face a'most like a bloodless ghost 

She covered the sleeping child. 

There was me like a six-foot babby 

A blubbering long and loud, 
While she sat there in the rocking-chair, 

A-sewing the little shroud. 

I couldn't abide to see it — ■ 
The look in her tearless eye ; 

I touches her so, and I whispers low, 
" My darlingest, can't you cry ? " 
She gave me a smile for answer, 
Then over her work she bowed, 

And all through the night her needle bright 
Was sewing a little shroud. 

In the gray of a winter morning, 

The mite of a coffin came, 
But it had space, O Father of Grace, 

To bury a mother's heart ! 

Great God ! such a shaller coffin, 

And yet so awful deep ! 
I placed it there by the poor wife's chair, 

And I thinks, " At last she'll weep." 



AND IMPERSONATIONS. 2^9 

But she rose with never a murmur, 
As cam as a specter thin, 
And — waxy and cold and so light to hold — 
She places the baby in. 

Then, moving with noiseless footfall, 

She reaches from box and shelf 
The little one's mug and the china pug, 

And the doll that was big as herself. 

Then — God ! it was dreadful to watch her— 

All white in her crape-black gown, 
With her own cold hands my Mary stands 

And fastens the coffin down. 

I carried the plaything coffin, 

Tucked under my arm, just so ; 
And she stood there at the head of the stair, 

And quietly watched us go. 

So parson he comes in his night-gown, 

And says that as grass is man, 
And earth had trust of the pinch of dust 

That was Alexandrina Ann. 

I was trying to guess the riddle 

I never could answer pat — 
What the wisdom and love as is planning above 

Could mean by a life like that ; 

And I'd got my foot on the doorstep, 

When, scaring my mournful dream, 
Shrill, wild and clear, there tore on my ear 

The sound of a maniac scream. 

The scream of a raving maniac, 

But, Father of death and life ! 
I listened and knew, the madness through 

The voice of my childless wife. 

One moment I clutched and staggered, 

Then down on my bended knee, 
And up to the sky my wrestling cry 

Went up for my girl and me. 



230 READINGS, RECITATIONS, 

I went to her room and found her ; 

She sat on the floor, poor soul ! 
Two burning streaks on her death-pale cheeks, 

And eyes that were gleeds of coal. 

And now she would shriek and shudder, 

And now she would laugh aloud, 
And now for a while, with an awful smile, 

She'd sew at a little shroud. 

Dear Lord, through the day and darkness, 
Dear Lord, through the endless night, 

I sat by her side, while she shrieked and cried, 
And I thought it would ne'er be light. 
And still, through the blackness thronging 
With shapes that was dread to see, 

My shuddering cry to the God on high 
Went up for my girl and me. 

At last through the winder, morning 
Came glimmering, cold and pale ; 

And, faint but clear, to my straining ear 
Was carried a feeble wail. 
I went to the door in wonder, 
And there, in the dawning day, 

All swaddled and bound in a bundle round, 
A sweet little baby lay. 

It lay on the frosty doorstep, 

A pert little two months' child ; 
Dumfounded and slow, I raised it so, 

And it looked in my face and smiled. 

And so as I kissed and loved it, 

I grajuly growed aware 
As the Father in bliss had sent us this, 

The answer to wrestling prayer. 

In wonder and joy and worship, 
With tears that were soft and blest, 
I carried the mite, and, still and white, 
I laid it on Mary's breast. 



AND IMPERSONATIONS. 231 

I didn't know how she'd take it, 
So goes on an artful tack ; 
"The little 'un cried for her mother's side. 
And the hangels has sent her back ! " 

My God ! I shall ne'er forget it, 

Though spared for a hundred years — 
The soft delight on her features white, 

The rush of her blissful tears. 

The eyes that was hard and vacant 

Grew wonderful soft and mild, 
As she cries, " Come rest on your mammy's breast, 

My own little hangel child." 

And so from that hour, my darling 
Grew happy and strong and well ; 

And the joy that I felt as to God I knelt 
Is what I can noways tell. 
There's parties as sneers and tells you 
There's nothing but clouds up there : 

I answers 'em so, " There's a God I know, 
And a Father that heareth prayer." 

And what if my Mary fancies 

The babe is a child of light — 
Our own little dear sent back to us here ? — 

And mayn't she be somewheres right? 

Here, Mary, my Darling, Mary ! 

A friend has come into town ; 
Don't mind her nose nor changing her clo'es, 

But bring us the hangel down. 

Langbridge, in " The Voice Magazine" 



NAUGHTY GIRL. 

I don't 'spect folks think I look so very purty in 
this dress. I don't think I do neither. This is 'bout 
the worstest dress I dot, but if it is the worstest 
dress I dot, it's lots better than Mary Lee's Sunday 



232 READINGS, RECITATIONS, 

dress. But then ray pa's lots richer'n hern. My pa's 
dot so much money he could gist throw it away if he 
wanted to — but he don't want to, and I don't blame 
him much neither, so I don't. 

Some people say I kin speak so nice, but I don't 
think I kin. I'm going to speak a wee teeny little bit, 
and let you see how I spoke my piece for my ma's 
preachers t'huther day. Now this is going to be the 
way what I spoke my piece. 

(Make several boivs, forget, and begin again. Make gestures in 
imitation of a child.) 

" I love to see a little dog, 
And pat him on the head, 

So prettily he wags his tail 
Whenever he is fed. 

" Some little dogs are very good 

And very useful too, 
And do you know that they will do 

What they are bid to do ? " 

Don't 'spect you think that's such very good 
speakin'. 'Tain't. That's about the very worstest 
speakin' I kin speak. I kin speak lots better than 
that, for a man told me I could speak as good as Mary 
Sanderson. He said that when I spoke my piece what 
I got the medal on, over here in this big red brick 
school house. Mary Sanderson speaks in New York, 
and pa says I kin go and hear her speak some day if 
1 don't die too soon. Do you all know her ? 

Now this is my medal piece. 

" My country, 'tis of thee, 
Sweet land of liberty, 

Of thee I sing. 
Land where my fathers died, 
Land of the pilgrim's pride, 
From every mountain side 

Let freedom ring. 



AND IMPERSONATIONS. 233 

"My native country thee, 
Land of the noble free, 

Thy name I love. 
I love thy rocks and rills, 
Thy woods and templed hills; 
My heart with rapture thrills 

Like that above." 

Now that's fine speakin'. 

I was walking down the street the other day and I 
was sayin' to myself I don't believe I have such very 
good sense anyhow — I was gist thin kin' that — and I 
heard some one talkin' about me, so I went back to 
hear what they was sayin'. And what do you think 
I heard them say ? They says that's the very purtiest 
little girl in this town — and they meant me. T'ain't 
so neither, so it 'taint. I think I'm the very ugliest 
girl in this whole town. 

My ma's a Methodist, and when Conference comes 
you ought to see the big preachers what comes to 
our house. They come and stay nearly a week, and 
goodness! how much they do eat. One of them— the 
very biggest one too— took me on his knee and said I 
was a daisy. I gist jumped off of his knee and said, 
Who do you think you are talkin' 'bout anyway? 
Why, you ole crank, if you don't watch out we'll fire 
you out bodily. You bets you, I skeered him purty 
bad. He never said a nuther word to me, you bets 
you. He's dead now, and I'm so glad. 

I bet you don't know Sim. He's my beau. We 
have to hide behind the rose-bush every night and 
hear my sister Jane and her beau sparkin' in the 
hammock, so we kin take items. Then when we git 
big, if Sim forgets, I'll know how. Oh, we've got 
sparkin' down to a purty fine point. 

Well, I guess I'll go and get on my new dress, and 
let you see it. This is 'bout the worstest dress I dot, 
but I could have lots better ones if I wanted 'em, but 
I don't wan't want 'em. I've got sense enough not 
to want things I can't git. 



234 READINGS, RECITATIONS, 

That's all I have to tell you so I guess I'll go. 
Good-bye. 

[Arranged on hearing Miss Lucia Griffin recite " The Naughty 
Girl"] 



THE WAY TO SLEEPTOWN. 

The town of Sleeptown is not far 

In Timbuctoo or China, 
For it's right near by in Blinkton county, 

In the state of Drowsylina ; 
It's just beyond the Thingumbob hills, 

Not far from Nodville Center, 
But you must be drawn thro' the Valley of Yawn, 

Or the town you cannot enter, 
And this is the way, 
They say, they say, 

That baby goes to Sleeptown ! 

He starts from the city of Odearme, 

Through Boohoo street he totters, 
Until he comes to Dontcry Corners 

By the shore of the Sleeping Waters ; 
Then he comes to the Johnny-Jump-Up hills, 

And the nodding Toddlebom mountains, 
And straight does he go thro' the Vale of Heigho, 

And drinks from the Drowsy Fountains. 
And this is the way, 
They say, they say, 

That bab} r goes to Sleeptown ! 

By Twilight Path thro' the Nightcap Hills 

The little feet must toddle, 
Thro' the dewy gloom of Flyaway Forest, 

By the drowsy peaks of Noddle ; 
And never a sound does baby hear, 

For not a leaf does quiver, 
From the Little Dream Gap in the Hills of Nap 

To the Snoozequehanna River. 



AND IMPERSONATIONS. 235 

And this is the way, 
They say, they say, 
That baby goes to Sleeptovvn ! 

Aways he flies over Bylow Bridge, 

Through Lullaby Lane to wander, 
And on thro' the groves of Moonshine Valley 

By the hill of Wayoffyonder ; 
And then does the fairies' flying-horse 

The sleepy baby take up — 
Until they enter at Jumpoff Center 
The Peekaboo Vale of Wakeup. 
And this is the way, 
They say, they say, 
That baby conies from Sleeptown ! 

S. W. Foss. 



IMPH-M. 

Ye've heard hoo the de'il, as he wauchel'd thro' Beith, 

Wi' a wife in ilk oxter, an' yen in his teeth, 

When some yen cried oot, "Willyetak' mine the 

morn?" 
He wagg'd his auld tail while he cockit his horn, 

But only said, "Imph-m ; " 

That usefu' word " Imph-m ; " 
Wi' sic a big mouthf u', he couldna say Aye ! 

When I was a laddie, lang syne, at the schule, 
The maister aye ca'd me a dunce and a fule ; 
For of a' that he said, I could ne'er understan', 
Unless when he bawled, " Jamie, haud oot your han'! " 
Then I gloomed, an' said, " Imph-m," 
I glunched, an' said, " Imph-m," 
I wasna owre proud, but owre dour to say A-y-e ! 

Ae day a queer word as lang-nebbit's himsel', 
He vowed he would thrash me if I wadna spell. 



236 HEADINGS, RECITATIONS, 

Quo' I, " Maister Quill," wi' a kin' o' a swither, 
" I'll spell ye the word gif ye'll spell me anither — 

Let's hear ye spell 'Imph-m,' 

That common word ' Imph-m,' 
That auld Scotch word ' Imph-m,' ye ken it means 
A-y-e!" 

Had ye seen hoo he glowered, hoo he scratched his big 

pate, 
An' shouted, " Ye villain, get oot o' my gate ! 
Get aff tae yer seat ! ye're the plague o' the schule ! 
The de'il o' me kens if yer maist rogue or fule ! " 

But I only said, " Imph-m," 

That decent word " Imph-m," 
That auld-farran " Imph-m," that stan's for an A-y-e ! 

An' when, a brisk wooer, I courted my Jean, 
O' Avon's braw lassies the pride an' the queen, 
When 'neath n^grey plaidie, wi' heart beatin' fain, 
I spiered in a whisper if she'd " be my ain," 
She blushed and said, "Imph-m," 
That charming word " Imph-m," 
A thousan' times better an' sweeter than Aye! 

An' noo I'm a dad, wi' a hoose o' my ain — 
A daintie bit wifie, an' mair than ae wean ; 
But the warst o't is this — when a question I spier, 
They pit on a luik sae auld-farran an' queer, 
But only say, "Imph-m" — 
That daft-like word, " Imph-m," 
That vulgar word " Impb-m" — they winna say A-y-e ! 

Sae I've gi'en owre the " Imph-m" — it's nae a nice 

word ; 
When printed on paper, it's perfect absurd; 
An' gif ye're owre lazy to open yer jaw, 
Jist haud yer tongue, an' say naething ava'; 
But never say, " Imph-m," 
That wretched word " Imph-m, v ' 
It's ten times mair vulgar than even braid Aye. 

James Nicholson. 



AND IMPERSONATIONS. 237 

A SECRET. 

"I'll tell you something," says little Belle, 
" If you're certain, sure, you'll never tell. 

" Well, then," whispers the little maid, 
" My papa, a great, big man, 's afraid." 

" Oh, isn't that funny enough? " laughed Sue. 
" Your papa's afraid, and mine is, too. 

" Not of bears or tigers or bumble-bees ; 

It's something a thousand times worse than these. 

" It's a terrible thing, that goes up and down 
Through every city, village and town. 

" And my papa says he almost knows 

That things will be ruined wherever it goes." 

" Yes, isn't it dreadful ? " says Belle, with a sigh. 
" It will swear and, papa says, steal and lie. 

" I s'pect it has horns and cloven feet ; 
And, Sue! what do you s'pose it will eat?" 

Then closer together drew each little maid, 
Looking about as if half afraid 

They might see this thing with cloven feet, 
And find it liked little girls to eat. 

And then they fancied they heard it roar, 
As it gobbled them up and cried for more. 

"Oh, its name," cries Belle, " is so dreadful, too; 
Does your papa call it ' Republican,' Sue ?" 

Sue shakes her head. " Oh, it can't be that, 
For my papa calls it a 'Democrat.' " 

Lizzie M. Hadley. 



238 READINGS, RECITATIONS, 

THE STARS AND STRIPES. 

Fellow Citizens : — It is with no ordinary pride 
that I, who have opposed all these sectional parties, 
can stand here in the city of Atlanta, in the very 
center of all our sorrows, and raise my voice — fear- 
ing no successful contradiction when I affirm that the 
Union never made war upon the South. 

It was not the Union, my countrymen, that slew 
your children ; it was not the Union that burned your 
cities ; it was not the Union that laid waste your 
country, invaded your homes, and mocked at your 
calamities ; it was not the Union that reconstructed 
your states ; it was not the Union that disfranchised 
intelligent citizens and denied them participation in 
their own governments. No! No! Charge not these 
wrongs upon the Union of your fathers. Every one 
of these wrongs was inflicted by a diabolical section- 
alism in the very teeth of every principle of the 
American Union. 

So, equally, I say the South never made war upon 
the Union. There has never been an hour when nine 
out of ten of us would not have given our lives for 
this Union. We did not leave the Union because 
we were dissatisfied with it ; we did not leave the 
Union to make war on it. We left the Union because 
a sectional party had seized it, and we hoped thereby 
to avoid a conflict. But if war must come, we intended 
to fight a sectional party and not the Union. There- 
fore the late war, with all its disastrous consequences, 
is the direct result of sectionalism in the North, and 
of sectionalism in the South. And none, I repeat, 
of these disasters are chargeable on the Union. 

When unimpassioned reason shall review our past, 
there is no subject in all our history, on which our 
American Statesmanship, North and South, will be 
adjudged to have been so unwise, so imbecile, and 
so utterly deficient, as on that one subject which 
stimulated these sectional parties into existence. 



ANT) IMPERSONATIONS. 239 

Above all the din of these sectional quarrelings, I 
would raise mv voice, and proclaim to all our people 
that there is no right or liberty for any race of any 
color in America, save in the preservation of that 
great American Union according to the principles 
symboled by that flag. Destroy the General Govern- 
ment and the States will rush into anarchy. Destroy 
the States and we will all rush into despotism and 
slavery. Preserve the General Government, preserve 
the States, and we shall preserve the rights and liber- 
ties of all sections, of all races, for all time. 

My countrymen, have you studied this wonderful 
system of free government? To him who loves 
liberty it is more enchanting than romance, more 
bewitching than love, more elevating than any other 
science. Our forefathers adopted this plan, with im- 
provements in the details which cannot be found in 
any other system. The snows which fall on Mount 
Washington are not purer than the motives which 
begot it. Have the motives which so inspired our 
fathers become all corrupt in their children ? Are the 
hopes that sustained them all poisoned in us? No! 
forever No ! Patriots North, Patriots South ! Let us 
hallow this year of Jubilee by burying all our sec- 
tional animosities. Let us close our ears to the men 
and parties that would teach us to hate each other. 
Raise high the flag of our fathers ! Let Southern 
breezes kiss it ; let Southern skies reflect it ! South- 
ern patriots will love it ; Southern sons will defend 
it; Southern heroes die for it ! 

Flag of our Union, wave on, wave forever! But 
wave over freemen, not over subjects ; wave over 
states, not over provinces ! Wave over a Union of 
equals, not over a despotism of lords and vassals ; 
over a land of law, of liberty, of peace, and not of 
anarchy, of oppression, and strife. — B. H. Hill. 



240 READINGS, RECITATIONS, 

THE LITTLE GNOME. 

Once there lived a little gnome, 

Who had made his little home 
Right down in the middle of the earth, earth, earth. 

He was full of fun and frolic, 

But his wife was melancholic, 
And he never could divert her into mirth, mirth, 
mirth. 

He had tried her with a monkey, 

And a parrot, and a donkey, 
And a pig that squealed whene'er he pulled its tail, 
tail, tail ; 

But though he laughed himself 

Into fits, the jolly elf, 
Still his wifey's melancholy did not fail, fail, fail. 

"I will hie me," said the gnome, 

" From my worthy earthy home, 
I will go among the dwellings of the men, men, men. 

Something funny there must be 

That will make her say ' He ! he ! ' 
I will find it and will bring it her again, 'gain, 'gain." 

So he traveled here and there 
And he saw the Blinking Bear, 
And the Pattypol, whose eyes are in his tail, tail, 
tail; 
And he saw the Linking Gloon, 
Who was playing the bassoon, 
And the Octopus a-waltzing with the whale, whale, 
whale. 

He saw the Chingo Chee, 

And a lovely sight was he, 
With a ringlet and a ribbon on his nose, nose, nose, 

And the Baggie, and the Wogg, 

And the Cantilunar Dog, 
Who was throwing cotton flannel at his foes, foes, 
foes. 



AND IMPEItSONATIONS. 24=1 

All these the little gnome 

Transported to his home, 
And set them down before his weeping wife, wife, 
wife, 

But she only cried and cried, 

And she sobby-wobbed and sighed, 
Till she really was in danger of her life, life, life. 

Then the gnome was in despair, 
And lie tore his purple hair, 
And he sat him down in sorrow on a stone, stone, 
stone. 
" I too," lie said, " will cry 
Till I tumble down and die, 
For I've had enough of laughing all alone, 'lone, 
lone." 

His tears they flowed away 
Like a rivulet at play, 
With a bubble, gubble, rubble, o'er the ground, 
ground, ground. 
But when this his wifey saw, 
She loudly cried, " Haw ! haw ! 
Here at last is something funny you have found, 
found, found." 

She laughed. " Ho ! ho ! he ! he ! " 
And she chuckled loud with glee, 
And she wiped away her little husband's tears, tears, 
tears ; 
And since then, through wind and weather, 
They have said, " He ! he ! " together, 
For several hundred thousand merry years, years, 
years. 

Laura Richards, in " St. Nicholas." 



242 BEADIXGS, UEC1TAT10NS, 

ROB, THE PAUPER. 

(From " Farm Legends" Copyright 1875 by Harper & Bros.) 

Rob, the Pauper, is loose again 

Through fields and woods he races ; 

He shuns the women, he beats the men, 

He kisses the children's frightened faces. 

There is no. house by road or lane 

He did not tap at the window pane, 

And make more dark the dismal night, 

And set the faces within all white. 

Rob, the Pauper, is wild of eye, 

Wild of speech and wild of thinking, 

Yet there is something in his bearing 

Not quite what a pauper should be wearing. 

In every step is a shadow of grace, 

The ghost of beauty haunts his face. 

Rob, the Pauper, is crazed of brain, 

The world is a lie to his shattered seeming ; 

He hath broke him loose from his poorhouse cell, 

He hath dragged him clear from rope and fetter. 

They might have thought ! for they knew full well, 

They could keep a half-caged panther better. 

He hath crossed the fields, the woods, the street, 

He hides in the swamp his wasted features. 

He hath fallen into a slough of sleep, 

A haze of the past bends softly o'er him. 

His restless spirit a watch doth keep 

As memory's canvas glides before him. 

The bright past dawns through a cloud of dreams, 

And once again in his prime he seems, 

For over his heart sweepeth a vision 

Like to this. 

A cozy kitchen, a smooth cut lawn, 

Himself on the door-stone idly sitting, 

A blonde-haired woman about him flitting. 



AND IMPERSONATIONS. 243 



She fondly stands beside him there, 

And deftly toys with his coal-black hair, 

And whispers to him, pleading-wise : 

"0 Rob, why will yon plague my heart, why will 

Yon try me so? Is she so fair, is she so sweet 

That you must needs desert me ? 



" I saw you kiss her twice and thrice 

Behind the maple row, and each caress 

You gave to her did like a dagger stab me. 

Oh, why for her and for her smiles 

Your heart a moment hunger? 

What though her shape more trim than mine, 

Her face a trifle younger? 

She cannot look so young to you as I when we were 

wed ; 
She cannot speak more sweet to you 
Than words that I have said ; 
She cannot love you half so well as I, when all is 

done, 
And she is not your wedded wife — the mother of 

your son. 



" You say that I am overwise, 

That I am jealous of you. 

My jealous tongue but tells the more 

The zest with which I love you. 

Oh, we might be so peaceful here 

With nothing of reproving ; 

Oh, we might be so happy here, 

With none to spoil our loving. 

Why should a joy be more a joy 

Because, forsooth, 'tis hid? 

Why should a kiss be more a kiss 

Because it is forbid ? 

" Remember there are years to come, 

And there are thorns of woe that you may grasp 

If once you let the flowers of true love go." 



24-1 HEADINGS, RECITATIONS, 

Rob, the Pauper, awakes and runs; 
A clamor cometh clear and clearer, 
They are hunting him with dogs and guns, 
They are every moment pressing nearer. 
Through pits of stagnant pools he pushes, 
Through the thick sumach's poison bushes, 
He runs and stumbles and leaps and clambers, 
From bog to bog, from slough to slough. 



They have hunted him to the open field. 

He is falling upon their worn-out mercies. 

'\ ney loudly call to him to yield, 

He hoarsely pays them back in curses. 

He waves his cudgel with war-cry loud, 

And breaks again from the crowd around him. 

On — yet on — with speed he rushes, 

He mounts a fence with a madman's ease 

And this is something of what he sees : — 

A lonely cottage, some tangled mullein, 

A broken chimney cold and sullen. 

The pauper falls on the dusty floor, 

And there rings in his failing ears once more 

A voice, as it might be, from the dead. 



" O Rob, I have a word to say, a cruel word to you- 

I cannot longer live a lie, 

I cannot keep the secret locked 

That long has been your due, 

Not if you strike me to the ground 

And spurn me in my falling. 

He came to me when first a cloud 

Across your smile was creeping, 

He came to me, he brought to me 

A slighted heart for keeping. 

He would not see my angry frown, 

He sought me day by day ; 

I flung at him hot words of scorn, 

I turned my face away. 



AND IMPERSONATIONS. 24" 

I bade him dread my husband's rage, 

When once his words were known, 

He smiled at me and said 

I had no husband of my own! 

His words were over-true ; 

They burned into my brain. 

I could not rub them out again 

Were I awake or sleeping. 

I threw myself upon your heart, 

I plead and prayed to stay ! 

I held my hands to you for help, 

You pushed them rude away I 

He came to me again ! 

He held his eager love to me 

Whose weak, hungry heart deep desolation dreaded. 

He bade me follow him 

And see my erring fancy righted. 

We crept along the garden glade 

By moonbeams dimly lighted. 

She silent sat' mid clustering vines, 

Though much her eyes did speak, 

And your black hair was tightly pressed 

Unto her glowing cheek. 

" It crazed me, but he soothed me sweet 

With love's unnumbered charms ; 

I, desolate, threw myself into his desolate arms. 

Oh, Rob, you know how little worth, 

When once a woman slips, 

May be the striking down a hand 

To keep herself from falling. 

The night was dark, the stbrm had come, 

The fancy stars of youth each hid its pale white face, 

Till all was dark, and all was drear, 

And all was black disgrace. 

" Oh, Rob, good-bye ! " a solemn one— 

'Tis till the Judgment day. 

We might have been so peaceful here 



246 HEADINGS, HECITAT10NS, 

With nothing of reproving ; 

We might have been so happy here 

With none to spoil our loving. 

As I, a guilty one, might kiss a corpse's waiting brow, 

I bend to you where you have fallen, 

And calmly kiss you now. 

As I, a wronged and injured one, 

Might seek escape's glad door, 

I wander forth into the world, 

To enter here no more." 

Rob, the Pauper, is lying in state 

In a box of rough-planed boards, unpainted — 

He waits at the poorhouse grave-yard gate, 

For a home by human lust untainted. 

They have gone to their homes anear and far, 

Their joys and grief's, their loves and hating — 

Some to sunder the ties that are, 

And some to coming, and wooing and mating, 

They will swiftly sail love's delicate bark 

With never a helm in the dangerous dark ; 

They will ne'er quite get it understood 

That the Pauper's woes were for their good. 

Carleton. 



BUCKINGHAM FOILED. 

In Sir Walter Scott's novel, " Peveril of the Peak," 
the second Duke of Buckingham, Minister of Charles 
I., young, gay, and voluptuous, became enamored 
of the fair Alice Biidgeworth, and had her conducted 
under guise of friendship to his palace, and detained 
there against her will. Zarah, the dark-eyed, high- 
spirited Mauritanian maiden, succeeded in releasing 
her, and preserved the deception by remaining in the 
stead of Alice to meet and foil the advances of the 
Duke of Buckingham. Zarah, disguised in veil and 
coquetish oriental costume, rises to meet the Duke 
as he enters her apartment. 



AND IMPERSONATIONS. 217 

Duke. Fair mistress Alice, I am sensible how 
deeply I ought to sue for pardon for the mistaken 
zeal of my servants, who, seeing you deserted and 
exposed without protection during an unlucky affray, 
took it upon them to bring you under the roof of 
one who would expose his life rather than suffer you 
to sustain a moment's anxiety. Was it my fault that 
those around me should have judged it necessary to 
interfere for your preservation ; or that, aware of the 
interest I must take in you, they have detained you 
till I could myself, in personal attendance, receive 
your commands? 

Zarah. That attendance has not been speedily 
rendered, my Lord. — I have been a prisoner for two 
days — neglected, and left to the charge of menials. 

Duke. How say you, lady? — neglected ! By heaven, 
if the best in my household has failed in his duty, I 
will discard him on the instant ! 

Zarah. I complain of no lack of courtesy from 
your servants, my lord ; but methinks it had been 
but complaisant in the Duke himself to explain to 
me earlier wherefore he has had the boldness to 
detain me as a state prisoner. 

Duke. And can the divine Alice doubt that, had 
time and space, those cruel enemies to the flight of 
passion, given permission, the instant in which you 
crossed your vassal's threshold had seen its devoted 
master at your feet, who hath thought, since he saw 
you, of nothing but the charms which that fatal 
morning placed before him at Chiffinch's? 

Zarah. I understand then, my lord, that you have 
been absent, and have had no part in the restraint 
which has been exercised upon me ? 

Duke. Absent on the King's command, lady, and 
employed in the discharge of his duty. What could 
I do? — The moment you left Chiffinch's, his majesty 
commanded me to the saddle in such haste that 1 had 
no time to change my satin buskins for riding boots. 
If my absence has occasioned you a moment of 
inconvenience, blame the inconsiderate zeal of those 



248 READINGS, RECITATIONS, 

-who, seeing me depart from London, half distracted 
at my separation from you, were willing to contribute 
their unmannered, though well-meant exertions, to 
preserve their master from despair, by retaining the 
fair Alice within his reach. To whom, indeed, could 
they have restored you ? He whom you selected as 
your champion is in prison, or fled, — your father 
absent from town, — your uncle in the North. To 
Chiffinch's house you had expressed your well- 
founded aversion ; and what fitter asylum remained 
than that of your devoted slave, where you must 
ever reign a queen ? 

Zarah. An imprisoned one ? I desire not such 
royalty. 

Duke. Alas ! how wilfully (kneeling} you miscon- 
strue me ! and what right can you have to complain 
of a few hours' gentle restraint, — you, who destine so 
many to hopeless captivity ! Be merciful for once, 
and withdraw that envious veil ; for the divinities 
are ever most cruel when they deliver their oracles 
from such clouded recesses. Suffer at least my rash 
hand 

Zarah. I will save your Grace that unworthy 
trouble. (Throws back her veil.} Look on me, my 
Lord Duke, and see if these be indeed the charms 
that have made on your Grace an impression so 
powerful. (The Duke rises in amazement, and stands 
as one 'petrified.') My Lord Duke, it seems the lift- 
ing of my veil has done the work of magic upon 
your Grace. Alas, for the captive princess whose 
nod was to command a vassal so costly ! She runs, 
methinks, no slight chance of being turned out of 
doors, like a second Cinderella, to seek her fortune 
among lackeys and lightermen. 

Duke. I am astonished ! That villain, Jerning- 
ham — I will have the scoundrel's blood ! 

Zarah. Nay, never abuse Jerningham for the 
matter; but lament your own unhappy engagements. 
While you, my Lord Duke, were posting northward 
in white satin buskins, to toil in the king's affairs, 



AND IMPERSONATIONS. 249 

the right and lawful princess sat weeping in sables 
in the uneheered solitude to which your absence con- 
demned her. Two days she was disconsolate in vain ; 
on the third came an African enchantress to change 
the scene for her, and the person for your Grace. 
Methinks, my Lord, this adventure will tell but ill, 
when some faithful squire shall recount or record the 

gallant adventures of the second Duke of Bucking- 

i 
ham. 

Duke. Fairly bit, and bantered to boot ! The 
monkey has a turn for satire, too, by all that is 
piquant. Hark ye, fair Princess, how dared you ad- 
venture on such a trick as you have been accomplice 
to? 

Zarah. Dare, my Lord ! put the question to 
others, not to one who fears nothing. 

Duke. By my faith, I believe so ; for thy front is 
bronzed by nature. What is your name and condi- 
tion ? 

Zarah. My condition I have told you: I am a 
Mauritanian sorceress by profession, and my name is 
Zarah. 

Duke. But methinks that face, shape, and ej T es — 
when didst thou pass for a dancing fairy? — some 
such imp thou wert not many days since. 

Zarah. My sister you may have seen — my twin sis- 
ter; but not me, my Lord. 

Duke. Indeed, that duplicate of thine, if it was 
not thy very self, was possessed with a dumb spirit, 
as thou with a talking one. I am still in the mind 
that you are the same; and that Satan, always so 
powerful with your sex, had art enough, on our for- 
mer meeting, to make thee hold thy tongue. 

Zarah. Believe what you will of it, my Lord, it 
cannot change the truth. And now, my Lord, I bid 
you farewell. Have you any commands to Mauri- 
tania? 

Duke. Tarry a little, my Princess ; and remem- 
ber that you have voluntarily entered yourself as 
pledge for another ; and are justly subjected to any 



250 READINGS, RECITATIONS, 

penalty which it is my pleasure to exact. None 
must brave Buckingham with impunity. 

Zarah. I am in no hurry to depart if your Grace 
has any commands for me. 

Duke. What! Are you neither afraid of my re- 
sentment nor of my love, fair Zarah? 

Zarah. Of neither, by this glove. Your resent- 
ment must be a pretty passion indeed, if it could 
stoop to such a helpless object as I am ; and for your 
love — Good lack ! Good lack ! 

Duke. And why good lack, with such a tone of 
contempt, good lady? Think you Buckingham can- 
not love or has never been beloved in return ? 

Zarah. He may have thought himself beloved ; 
but by what slight creatures ! — things whose heads 
could be rendered giddy by a playhouse rant — whose 
brains were only filled with red-heeled shoes and 
satin buskins — and who run altogether mad on the 
argument of a George and a star. 

Duke. And are there no such frail fair ones in 
your climate, most scornful Princess? 

Zarah. There are ; but men rate them as parrots 
and monkeys — things without either sense or soul, 
head or heart. The nearness we bear to the sun has 
purified, while it strengthens, our passions. The 
icicles of your frozen climate shall as soon hammer 
hot bars into plowshares as shall the foppery and 
folly of j-our pretended gallantry make an instant's 
impression on a breast like mine. 

Duke. You speak like one who knows what 
passion is. Sit down, fair lady, and grieve not that 
I detain you. You have known, then, what it is to 
love? 

Zarah. I know — no matter if by experience or 
through the report of others — that to love as I would 
love, would be to yield not an iota to avarice, not 
one inch to vanity, not to sacrifice the slightest feel- 
ing to interest or ambition ; but to give up all to 
fidelity of heart and reciprocal affection. 

Duke. And how many women, think you, are 
Capable of feeling such disinterested passion ? 



AND IMPERSONATIONS. 251 

Zarah. More, by thousands, than men who merit 
it. Alas ! How often do you see a woman pale, 
wretched, ami degraded, still following with patient 
constancy the footsteps of some predominating 
tyrant, and submitting to all his injustice with the 
endurance of a faithful and misused spaniel, which 
prizes a look from his master, though the surliest 
groom that ever disgraced humanity, more than all 
the pleasures which the world besides can furnish 
him ? Think what such would be to one who merited 
and repaid her devotion. 

Duke. Perhaps the very reverse, and for } T our simile, 
I can see little resemblance. I cannot charge my 
spaniel with any perfidity ; but for my mistresses — 
to confess truth, I must always be in a cursed hurry 
if I would have the credit of changing them before 
they leave me. 

Zarah. And they serve you but rightly, my Lord ; 
for what are you ? — Nay, frown not ; for you must 
hear the truth for once. Nature has done its part, 
and made a fair outside, and courtl} 7 education hath 
added its share. You are noble, it is the accident of 
birth — handsome, it is the caprice of nature — gener- 
ous, because to give is more easy than to refuse — well- 
appareled, it is to the credit of your tailor — well- 
natured in the main, because you have youth and 
health — brave, because to be otherwise were to be 
degraded — and witty, because you cannot help it. 

Duke. (Glancing in mirror.') Noble and hand- 
some and courtlike, generous, well-attired, good- 
humored, brave, and witty ! — -You allow me more, 
madam, than I have the slightest pretension to, and 
surely enough to make my way, at some point at 
least, to female favor. 

Zarah. I have neither allowed you a heart nor a 
head. Nay, do not redden as if you would fly at me. 
I say not but nature may have given you both ; but 
folly has confounded the one, and selfishness per- 
verted the other. The man whom I call deserving 
the name is one whose thoughts and exertions are 



252 BEADING S, RECITATIONS, 

for others, rather than for himself, — whose high pur- 
pose is adopted on just principles, and never aban- 
doned while heaven or earth affords means of ac- 
complishing it. He is one who will neither seek an 
indirect advantage hy a specious road, nor take an 
evil path to gain a real good purpose. Such a man 
were one for whom a woman's heart should beat con- 
stant while he breathes, and break when he dies. 

Duke. You speak as if you had yourself a heart 
which could pay the full tribute to the merit which 
you describe so warmly. 

Zarah. And have I not ? (Laying her hand on her 
bosom.') Here beats one that would bear me out in 
what I have said, whether in life or death. 

Duke. (Interested.') Were it in my power to de- 
serve such faithful attachment, methinks it should be 
my care to requite it. 

Zarah. Your wealth, your titles, your reputation 
as a gallant — all you possess, were too little to merit 
such sincere affection. 

Duke. Come, fair lady, do not be so disdainful. 
Bethink you, that if your love be as pure as coined 
gold, still a poor fellow like myself may offer you an 
equivalent in silver. The quantity of my affection 
must make up for the quality. 

Zarah. But I am not carrying my affection to 
market, my Lord, and therefore I need none, of the 
base coin }'ou offer in exchange for it. 

Duke. How do I know that, my fairest ? This is 
the realm of Paphos — you have invaded it, with what 
purpose you best know ; but I think with none con- 
sistent with your present assumption of cruelty. 
Come, come, eyes that are so intelligent can laugh 
with delight, as well as gleam with scorn and anger. 
You are here a waif on Cupid's Manor, and I must 
seize on you in the name of the deity. 

^arah. Do not think of touching me, my Lord. 
Approach me not, if you would hope to learn the 
purpose of my being here. Your Grace may suppose 
yourself a Solomon, if you please ; but I am no t- r av« 



AND IMPERSONATIONS. 253 

elling princess, come from distant climes, either to 
flatter your pride or wonder at your glor}\ 

Duke. A defiance ! by Jupiter ! 

Zaralu You mistake the signal. I came not here 
without taking sufficient precautions for my retreat. 

Duke. You mouth it bravely ; but never fortress 
so boasted its resources but the garrison had some 
thoughts of surrender. Come, my fair Sorceress. 
{Moves toivards her ; she, with a rippling laugh of defi- 
ance, darts through an open window, and disappears 
behind a neighboring thicket of shrubs.) 

Duke. By all the powers of Hades, I will 3'et have 
vengeance on that impudent little jilt. {Exit in great 
passion.*) — Sir Walter Scott. 



A DREAM OF FAIR WOMEN. 

(Recitation, with Pantomime and Musical Accompaniment.) 

Methought that I had wandered far 

In an old wood ; fresh-washed in coolest dew ; 

The maiden splendors of the morning star 

Shook in the steadfast blue. 

There was no motion in the dumb, dead air, 

Not any song of bird or sound of rill ; 

Gross darkness of the inner sepulchre 

{Enter Helen of Tkoy in Grecian costume, 
Air — " Annie Laurie") 

Is not so deadly still 

As that wide forest. 

At length I saw a lady within call, 

Stiller than chisell'd marble, standing there ; 

A daughter of the gods, divinely tall, 

And most divinely fair. 

Her loveliness with shame and with surprise 

Froze my swift speech : she, turning on my face 

The star-like sorrows of immortal eyes, 



254 READINGS, RECITATIONS, 

Spoke slowly in her place. 

" I had great beauty : ask thou not my name ; 

No one can be more wise than destiny. 

Many drew swords and died. Where'er I came I 

brought calamity." 
" No marvel, sovereign lady ; in fair field 
Myself for such a face had boldy died." 

(Enter Iphigenia in Grecian costume. 
Air — " PleyeVs Hymn."} 

I answered free, and turning I appealed 

To one that stood beside. 

But she, with sick and scornful looks averse, 

To her full height her stately stature draws : 

" My youth," she said, " was blasted with a curse; 

This woman was the cause. 

I was cut off from hope in that sad place, 

Which yet to name my spirit loathes and fears: 

My father held his hand upon his face ; 

I, blinded with my tears, 

Still strove to speak : my voice was thick with sighs 

As in a dream. Dimly I could descry 

The stern, black-bearded kings with wolfish eyes, 

Waiting to see me die. 

The high masts flickered as they lay afloat; 

The crowds, the temples, wavered, and the shore ; 

The bright death quivered at the victim's throat, 

Touched, and I knew no more." 

Whereto the other with a downward brow; 

" I would the white, cold, heavy-plunging foam, 

Whirled by the wind, had rolled me deep below, 

Then when I left my home." 

{Exit Iphigenia and Helen op Troy. 

(Enter Cleopatra in Oriental costume). 
Air—-" My Country ' Tis of Thee. 

Sudden I heard a voice that cried, "Come here, 
That I may look on thee." 



AND IMPERSONATIONS. 255 

Turning, I saw a stately form in costly robes and 

coronet, 
A queen with swarthy cheeks and bold, black eyes. 
She, Hashing forth a haughty smile, began : 
" I governed men by change, and so I swayed 
All moods. 'Tis long since I have seen a man. 
Once, like the moon, I made 
The ever-shifting currents of the blood 
According to my humor ebb and flow. 
I have no men to govern in this wood : 
That makes my only woe. 
Nay — yet it chafes me that I could not bend 
One will ; nor tame and tutor with mine eye 
That dull, cold-blooded Csesar. Prythee, friend, 
Where is Mark Antony ? 

my life in Egypt! O the dalliance and the wit, 
The flattery and the strife, 

And the wild kiss, when fresh from war's alarms 
My Hercules, my Roman Antony, 
My mailed Bacchus leapt into my arms, 
Contented there to die ! 

1 died a queen. The Roman soldier found 
Me lying dead, my crown about my brows, 
A name forever! — lying robed and crowned 
Worthy a Roman spouse." [Exit Cleopatra. 
Slowly my sense undazzled. Then I heard 

A noise of some one coming thro' the lawn, 

And singing clearer than the crested bird, 

That claps his wings at dawn. 

As one who hearing an anthem sung, is charmed and 

tied 
To where he stands — so stood I, when that flow 

(Enter Jephthah's daw/hter veiled inJeivish costume. 
Air — "Back to My Mountain Horned} 

Of music left the lips of her that died 

To save her father's vow ; 

The daughter of the warrior Gileadite, 

A maiden pure ; as when she went along 

From Mizpeh's tower'd, gate with welcome light, 



256 READINGS, RECITATIONS, 

With timbrel and with song, 

My words leapt forth. " Heaven heads the count of 

crimes 
With that wild oath." She rendered answer high. 
" Not so, nor once alone: a thousand times 
I would be born and die. 

Single I grew, like some green plant, whose root 
Creeps to the garden water pipes beneath, 
Feeding the flower ; but ere my flower to fruit 
Changed, I was ripe for death. 
My God, my land, my father — these did move 
Me from the bliss of life, that nature gave, 
Lower'd softly with a threefold cord of love 
Down to a silent grave. 
How beautiful a thing it was to die 
For God and for my sire ! 
It comforts me in this one thought to dwell, 
That I subdued me to my father's will ; 
Because the kiss he gave me, ere I fell, 
Sweetens the spirit still." 

She locked her lips ; she left me where I stood ; 
"Glory to God," she sang and passed afar. 

[Exit Jephthah's daughter. 
Losing her carol I stood pensively, 
As one from a casement leans his head, 
When midnight bells cease ringing suddenly, 
And the old year is dead. 

(Enter Rosamond. 
Air — " Last Rose of Summer^) 

" Alas ! alas ! " a low voice full of care, 

Murmur'd beside me : " Turn and look on me : 

I am that Rosamond, whom men call fair, 

If what I was I be. 

Would I had been some maiden coarse and poor ! 

O me, that I should ever see the light ! 

Those dragon eyes of anger'd Eleanor 

Do hunt me, day and night." 

\Mzi$ Rosamond. 



axd nrPERSoxATioxs. 257 

Morn broadened on the borders of the dark, 
Ere I saw her, who clasp'd in her last trance 

{Enter Joan of Arc in Military costume of black 
and tinsel, bearing a white banner on wliich ap- 
pears, in golden letters, the word " France." 
Air — " Marsellaise Hymn.''''') 

Her murdered father's head, or Joan of Arc, 

A light of ancient France. 

" Maid of Orleans ! " I cried ; 

" Martyr and saviour of thy ungrateful race." 

Transfixed I gazed ! 

Whilst round her, trooped 

The other images of my dream so rare. 

{Re-enter Representative Figures. 
Air — " Horn, Sweet Home") 

Breathless I stood. Did ever human eye such beauty 

see ! 
The fair group lingered a moment more — and was 

gone — 
I had awakened from a dream of fair women. 
Adapted from Tennyson's " Bream of Fair Women." 



1HE ENIX 



INDEX. 



PAGE. 

Ado wn the Field Together 58 

Apostrophe to Water 1 

Artist and Peasant 198 

At " The Literary" 224 

Aunty Dolef ill's Visit 125 

Autumn 215 

Baby's Pillow, The 113 

Battle, The 179 

Blind Girl of Castel-Cuille, The.... 150 

BoyBrittan 87 

Bride of the Greek Isle, The 97 

Brutus on the Death of Caesar 214 

Buckingham Foiled.. 246 

Case of Mrs. Moll, The 67 

Chariot Race, The 77 

Cheap Jack, The 135 

Child on the Judgment Seat, The. 188 

Children and the Angel 143 

Child-wife, The 27 

Como 3 

Conquered Banner, The 193 

Day of Peace, The 52 

Democracy Hateful to Philip 210 

Dreamland Sea, The 108 

Dream of Fair Women, A 253 

Edinburgh after Flodden 63 

End of the Play, The 212 

Fall of Jerusalem, The 90 

Famine, The 36 

Fate of Nina and Rienzi 186 

First Soliloquy of a Rationalistic 

Chicken 25 

Flight of the Angel Gabriel 44 

Fourth of July at Jonesville, The. 16 

Gates 100 

Gettysburg 207 

Gin Fiend, The... 23 

Glaucus in the Roman Arena 218 

Gospel Harpoon, The 160 

Grandame's Story 144 

Graveyard of the Ages, The 168 

Hamlet 175 

Harvest, The 93 

Hiawatha's Wooing 32 

How Ruby Played 155 

I Love, You Love 130 

Imph-m . . . ." 235 

Inasmuch 162 

King among: Men, A 165 

Legend of Martha's Vineyard, A. . 127 

Le Mariage de Con venance 109 

Look Not upon the Wine When It 

Is Red 134 

Lost in the Sea Fog.. 75 

Macbeth and the Dagger 174 

Madman's Manuscript, The 114 

Mansie Wauch and the Play 181 

March of Time, The 141 

Margery 9 



Marse Phil 199 

May Days 191 

Mormon Wife Number One, on the 

Arrival of Number Twenty -one 106 
Mr. Horner of Grumble Corner.... 42 

Mrs. Leo Hunter 170 

My Ships at Sea 112 

Napoleon 158 

NewSouth, The 6 

North and South 203 

Nothing to Wear 46 

Nydia 221 

Pansy Blossom, The 204 

Pleasures of Hope 84 

Present Age, The 41 

Province of History 131 

Puritans, The 195 

Race Problem, The 102 

Robert E.Lee 195 

Robin 121 

Rob, the Pauper 242 

SamuelS. Cox 206 

Sent Back by the Angels . . 226 

Sharing Thanksgiving Dinner 12 

Sleep Walking Scene from Mac- 
beth 27 

Song of Steam, The 95 

Stars and Stripes, The 238 

Twickenham Ferry 121 

Uncrowned among the Nations.. . 56 

Victory of the Frosts, The 73 

Voice of the Helpless, The 22 

Wee Joukydaidles 108 

What Constitutes a State? 216 

What Makes the Grasses Grow?.. . 82 

Woman and the Rose 119 

World for Sale, The 60 

Juvenile Selections. 

Baby 45 

Baby Bovs 217 

Baby's Name, The 15 

Before and After School 118 

Doll's Tea Party, The 72 

Elf-child, The 173 

Elsie's Thanksgiving 165 

Jack Frost's Little Sister 209 

King of Candy-Land 130 

Little finome. The 240 

Little Housekeeper, The 39 

Little Mistake, A 201 

Little Scheherezade, The 51 

Miracles 177 

Naughty Girl 231 

Runaway Princess, The 183 

Secret, A 237 

Thirteen and Dolly 62 

Way to Sleeptown, The 234 

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